


Want

by the_diversionist



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Drama, F/F, Hawkecest, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-16
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_diversionist/pseuds/the_diversionist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and Bethany try to pin down why their relationship has changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Chore

**Author's Note:**

> I can't help myself. And neither can they. Also thanks to Fixative and the elusive cat for the inspiring art.

Watching over Bethany is an obligation and a nuisance.  Their mother ran off with a Fereldan apostate and they’re the ones to suffer the consequences. Hawke can’t recall a time that her mother has looked unworried or happy. Despite her condition and their difficulties Bethany always smiles.

Hawke doesn’t know if her younger sister is too stupid to recognize the predicament she puts them in or if she’s talented at projecting a positive image. Things have been strained between them but Hawke can’t put a finger on why. Bethany acts no different than usual, bearing Hawke’s moods with grace and charm.

It’s late at night and they’re in their room at Uncle Gamlen’s readying to depart for another of Athenril’s errands. Hawke is not above working with her again if it will mean extra coin. Bethany carefully slips her boot on before giving it one last sharp tug. She runs a hand along the boot, up her calf, to her knee before standing, prepared. She draws back the hair that had obscured her face moments ago, oblivious to how the fireplace lights her. Bethany is more beautiful with every passing day. She takes her staff by the wall and moves to the door beside Hawke. “I’m ready, Sister.”

Hawke grits her jaw. “You took long enough.” She grabs her great sword and leaves her uncle’s home. She’s sure to keep several steps ahead of Bethany. If danger presents itself, it should meet Hawke first, if templars are near they shouldn’t see Bethany at all. Bethany’s safety is Hawke’s top priority, followed by acquiring the necessary coin for the Deep Roads expedition. She always pretends as if it’s the other way around with Bethany’s safety an implied afterthought.

Bethany is always gratingly grateful.

*

“Don’t you ever wonder what it’d be like to be nobility, Sister?”

The question rouses Hawke who had been drifting off to sleep. They’d spent the majority of the day and part of the evening battling rogues and apostates. Hawke is worn down. Bethany and their mother are too obsessed with the past and moving to Hightown. “What’s the point in wondering?” she calls down. “I’ve told you before—this will never be home.”

“I like the idea of having a home—a place to belong.”

“Kirkwall has the greatest templar numbers of any place we’ve been. They’re vicious here. This is home to you?” she frowns. Bethany’s bright-eyed optimism verges too often on stupidity at times.

“It’s home to Mother.”

“Is that why she cries her eyes out every night?”

“Would it kill you to be optimistic, Sister?” Bethany is quiet for moments. “What have I done to make you angry? For over a year now you act as if you can’t bear my presence. We were always close and now... I feel as if it isn’t only Carver that I’ve lost. You make me feel so alone.”

Hawke hates nothing more than to hear sadness in Bethany’s voice. She guiltily turns away from it and to the wall. Her fingers clench around the thin sheet atop of her. “It’s nothing. I’m tired and I don’t feel like talking.”

“When will you feel like talking?”

“Go to sleep, Bethany.” Hawke doesn’t move. She moderates her breathing but doesn’t sleep. Bethany’s persistence and agitation makes her restless.

*

Bethany steps out of their room to see Hawke at their small dining table, rubbing at her forehead. Bethany wipes at her face, trying to wake up and walks to her, mussing her black hair, ignoring the annoyed swat from Hawke and kissing her cheek. “Morning, Sister.”

Hawke breaks off half of the hard roll of bread she’s eating and passes it to her wordlessly. Bethany takes it and settles in the seat opposite of her. There’s a small pitcher of water between them and Hawke pours her some in a poor wooden cup. She doesn’t look at her but Bethany looks at Hawke. The sun is hardly up but she looks as severe as ever and no sleepiness clings to her. Something about her is out of reach. Bethany has come to feel that way recently. She doesn’t know how to undo it, how to have her closer.

Shafts of golden light start to creep in through the windows. They hit Hawke, catching on her eyes and lips. Bethany wonders how she doesn’t squint against the brightness of the light; her lips do not thin in discomfort. No one has eyes like Hawke does. “If the men and women of Kirkwall could see you in this light, Marian, you would have a line around Kirkwall begging for your hand in marriage.” Hawke turns to her with quiet surprise. “You look comely.”

Hawke narrows her eyes gently before flicking them away and getting to her feet. “Hurry up and eat. You’ll need your energy and we have much to do today.”

Bethany bites into the hard piece of bread and covers her mouth discreetly. Is there nothing she can’t say wrong?

*

Fenris’ bronzed face has turned a ruddy complexion. His fingers sink into Hawke’s forearm that keeps him painfully and awkwardly pinned to the wall. Bethany can’t tell if Hawke feels his fingers or knows how red drops of blood form where he digs. Her blue eyes are merciless. Bethany touches Hawke’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Sister. I’m used to it by now.”

Hawke doesn’t look at her. Instead she presses her arm more cruelly against Fenris’ windpipe. “You hypocrite. Happy to have the assistance of an apostate when it’s convenient, only to turn around and run your mouth the moment you’ve gotten what you wanted. If I hear you say another word against my sister in either of our presence I will turn you over to that magister who was stupid enough to lose you. Are we clear?” Fenris gives faint acknowledgement. Hawke releases him. Bethany is astonished at how his freedom can look so violent. “Take your ignorance elsewhere, knife-ear.”

Fenris rubs at his neck and fights for breath. He says something rough to Hawke, something in a language that Bethany doesn’t understand before bowing his head demurely to Bethany and apologizing. He exits the Lowtown alley quickly. Hawke exhales and runs a hand agitatedly through her hair.

“You knew he didn’t like mages, Sister.”

“He also agreed to work with them. I’m tired of his constant bitching and moaning.” She looks sharply at Bethany. “And you, when will you find a backbone? Are you happy to let him and others like him slur our family name?”

Bethany crosses her arms and shifts her weight from one leg to the other. “I am an apostate. I can’t make that go away. Much as I may want to. He hasn’t turned me over to the templars. We can be grateful for that.” Hawke scowls with vexation. “What am I supposed to do, exactly? I can’t fight but with magic. That’s a good way to draw the attention of the templars. I’d like to stay out of their way if I can help it. You know what that would do to Mother.” Bethany knows she’s said the wrong thing again. Hawke looks at her as if she’s a contemptible idiot. Of course Hawke knows. Hawke has known as long as Bethany’s lived. Their mother has never been shy about expressing her worries. “I don’t mean to complain. I am grateful. If I had arms like you I might have done it myself.” But she doesn’t. She was raised to wield staffs, not great swords. She smiles. “The look on his face was priceless.”

“I wish I didn’t always have to defend you.”

Bethany doesn’t know what she means by that.

*

For the past hour Bethany has been collecting an eclectic assortment of flowers. This time in Hightown; earlier she’d pulled some from the Free Marches. Currently she’s on her knees, stretching her arm past the black iron grating of a Hightown mansion. Hawke keeps a lookout out of habit, despite her disapproval. Bethany is sensitive and prone to romanticism. Her olive skinned fingers wrap around a rose and she tugs, making a small sound of pain in the process. She stands, rose in hand, triumphant and shows it to Hawke who sighs. Bethany sticks it in the middle of the other dandelions and daisies, the sunflowers that she’d collected earlier. “Do you think Mother will like it?”

“I don’t think she’ll like that you’ve been stealing flowers from Hightown nobles.” Hawke looks around agitated.

“It will be a nice gesture,” Bethany protests. “She hasn’t had anything nice since we’ve arrived in Kirkwall. I don’t know about you but I can’t bear to see her unhappy.” Hawke pulls one of the thin red ribbons around her arm and wraps it around the bouquet of flowers in a zig zag. “That’s a nice touch,” Bethany says appreciatively, “looks like you have an eye for these things, no matter how you like to be a grouch. I’ll tell Mother they’re from both of us.” She winces and raises the hand that’d taken the rose. A crimson stream of blood runs along her palm and down her wrist.

“Idiot.” Hawke examines Bethany’s bleeding hand. The thorn from the rose has buried deep. Hawke lifts Bethany’s hand to her mouth and wipes the blood from her wrist and palm with her other hand. She feels Bethany’s pulse beneath her lips but she disregards that, much as she does Bethany’s small noise of surprise. Bethany’s hand is warm, her skin soft. Her breath quickens. Hawke narrows her eyes at the pointless knowledge and sucks gently until the thorn comes free. She pulls it carefully from her mouth, looks at it then throws it back in the garden where it came from. Her face is hot but the sky is cloudy and the weather moderate.

Bethany’s cheeks are red. “Thank you, Sister,” she says not looking at her.

Hawke wipes away the blood on her mouth with the back of her hand.

*

Bethany is nodding off on Hawke’s shoulder again. The difficulty with their stake outs for carta members is that they never know when they’re going to come out, if they come out at all. They’ve been waiting for hours now and Hawke’s fingers are verging on numb. Bethany resituates herself, wrapping an arm tightly around Hawke’s. Bethany is such a baby. She shifts closer to her, her fingers brushing over Hawke’s and warm breath, fogging in the air, heating Hawke’s neck as her lips hover too close. Hawke goes rigid.

She bites the tip of her tongue and dares a careful glance at her sleeping sister.  Bethany’s face is rosy from the cold. Hawke hears the warehouse door bang open. This is what they’ve been waiting for hours on end. Bethany sighs softly, her eyebrows furrowing and grabbing tighter hold of Hawke’s arm.

Hawke knows that Bethany hasn’t been sleeping. She could wake her and they could take them out. Or she could leave Bethany by herself and run off into the cold night to fight them on her own. Truth told she doesn’t know how much coin they might get off them, maybe only some coppers or perhaps, if lucky, a few sovereigns. Maybe she should have brought the others.

Hawke deliberates until the carta members are gone, their opportunity missed. She exhales. Bethany’s body is warm against her. Hawke watches her. She doesn’t understand why the sight of her sister lately leaves her uncomfortable and breathless.

*

“You could stand to be nicer to your sister,” Leandra tells her as Bethany exits the home.

Hawke leans back into the dining chair, the balance tentative but Hawke doesn’t notice. She looks at the plate in front of her, near cleaned of food. She’d focused intensely on it during mealtime. Does she constantly need to coddle her sister? “Has she been complaining about me?”

“I see how she looks at you.”

How does she look at her?

Leandra takes the plate of food away from her, making sure to needle her with a dark look in the process. “She only wants some of your attention. You know how hard it’s been for her since … since Carver… the least you could do is look at her, talk to her. Give her some affection. I don’t understand you, Marian. Why can’t things be like they were before? Why can’t you be a better sister?”

Hawke stands abruptly from the chair, pounding the door on the way out. She does not want to hear about why things can’t be the way they were before, what a horrible sister she is or how she might stand to become a better one.

*

It’s mad but it feels best when it’s only the two of them out doing battle. It’s by no means safer—Bethany understands the danger it brings when their numbers are smaller but Hawke is closer then. Her latest taunts (at least that’s how it feels) of ignoring her are impractical. They have to work together to survive. Bethany remembers when they didn’t need danger to bridge them together.

With a flip and a wave of her staff she’s set three carta men on fire. Hawke rushes forward with a shout. The burning men in the darkness provide enough light for Bethany to see Hawke’s slender but chiseled arms swing the massive sword. Her muscles ripple with the impact of the sword slamming into the men. Their screams are indistinguishable than they were moments ago when they were first set on fire. Hawke’s determined expression doesn’t belie the result of battle: her eyes are bright, her cheeks flushed attractively with excitement; she’s alive. The men they fight aren’t. They clutch at their stomachs as their insides fall out, then fall, jerking like a fish out of water.

Bethany has never known another woman to wield a sword like her sister does. There’s Aveline but she hardly counts. It isn’t the same thing. Does it require a certain ruthlessness? She can’t remember the last time Hawke smiled at her. “Nice job,” Hawke tells Bethany, slapping her arm heartily, leaving a bloody handprint. Hawke drops her hand, seemingly confused by the contact.

“You _can_ touch me. There’s no rule against that.” Bethany doesn’t understand why Hawke’s eyebrows furrow as she looks away. “Anyway, you helped, didn’t you?”

“Let’s collect our reward and go back to Uncle Gamlen’s. There’s no sense in lingering here.”

And just like that it’s back to business again and Hawke is walking away. Shouldn’t it be the other way around: cold on the battlefield and warm away from it? Bethany doesn’t understand her older sister at all. What has she done to make Hawke hate her?

*

Bethany cries in her sleep.

The first time Hawke heard it she suspected it was her mother and had lain in bed for minutes in a fugue state, waiting for it to pass like it always inevitably did and Leandra cried herself to sleep or to the point of exhaustion. Hawke is used to that.

Bethany had begun crying after their arrival to Kirkwall as if finally allowed her time to breathe and contemplate. During the two weeks it took to arrive to Kirkwall in the hold of the ship, Bethany scarcely slept. Mostly she sat, numb. Hawke remembers that even if Bethany never speaks of it and focuses, instead, on their mother’s sadness and distress, on Hawke’s moods and how to better them.

Hawke remains on the top bunk. Sometimes Bethany stops. Minutes pass. She thinks to call out to her but doesn’t. She stares into the darkness—it’s too warm for a fire, and allows her eyes to adjust. She deliberates. Then she drops down to the bottom bunk. Bethany faces the wall, shaking. Hawke takes hold of Bethany’s shoulder and squeezes gently.

Bethany makes a small sound of complaint and sniffles, hugging her pillow further. Hawke leans in closer and whispers her name. Bethany stops moving. “Marian…?” Bethany turns on her back to look at her. Hawke remains close. Her fingers graze along Bethany’s face but don’t wipe the tears away as if not wanting Bethany to know that she’s seen them. “I was having a nightmare.”

“It’s all right now. It wasn’t real.”

Bethany ducks her head and covers her face with her hand. She takes shaky breaths and nods.

“The past is over and done with.” Hawke says. “We can’t do anything to change it. So move on.” She doesn’t want Bethany to become like their mother, a ghost of her former self, comprised only of survivor’s guilt and sorrow. Hawke knows how it will eat at you if you don’t keep it in check, if you keep pitying yourself. Bethany doesn’t speak of it. She does better than most. But she looks at Hawke now as if she’s been betrayed. Hawke waits for the accusation: that she is heartless and mean, incapable of pity.

“I can’t change the way I feel, Marian. I can’t change my dreams.”

“I know.” She’s startled when Bethany throws her arms around her. Hawke falls forward awkwardly and barely catches herself with a hand against the wall to keep from tumbling. Her other hand falls to Bethany’s back. They’re close enough to kiss. An unfamiliar anxiousness takes hold of Hawke. Why think that at all? Who cares how close they are?

“Please don’t ever go anywhere.”

Hawke wishes that Bethany weren’t so sentimental. She can’t help but to memorize the softness of Bethany’s body pressed to hers. Bethany smells of flowers. “I won’t,” she manages. She smoothes the hair back from Bethany’s face, dazed by her younger sister’s beauty. Bethany covers Hawke’s fingers with her own, lightly curling around them. Their eyes meet as they breathe in synchronicity. Hawke disentangles herself from her. “Don’t worry so much,” she faces the dead fireplace because she can’t face _her_. She is wrought by the desire that scorches her, desire that should never be caused by a younger sister. Something is wrong with her. She doesn’t know how to properly care for people. She’s getting things mixed up in her head. “Goodnight,” she pulls herself back up to her bunk and lays there.

She hasn’t had a lover in some time. Clearly her body longs for one. She’ll go to the Blooming Rose and get it taken care of once and for all. Bethany has experienced enough. She doesn’t need her older sister’s perversions to contend with. No, Hawke tells herself. They aren’t perversions. A stray thought doesn’t mean anything. She’ll forget this happened. She’ll forget that thought.

*

It is only when they’re finished and her lust somewhat sated that Hawke sees the resemblance between the Blooming Rose whore and Bethany. The shape of her eyebrows, the color of her eyes, the fullness of her lips and the curiously innocent expression are some of the traits they share. She isn’t as attractive as Bethany and her voice is different, haughty and servile, teasing and leering: she is everything that Bethany is not and therefore inferior.

But noting the obvious physical resemblance stirs Hawke again. With some reluctance and great shame, she pays for another hour between the two of them. The obscenities the whore speaks into Hawke’s ears make the difference between Bethany and the woman clearer. Hawke cannot decide if this is how she would prefer it. She can’t imagine Bethany saying those things… What would it be like to hear Bethany saying those things…?

This isn’t what she wants. How could it be? How did this happen? Did she unknowingly choose her because of her resemblance to Bethany? Even if she hadn’t—what of afterward when she knew without a doubt? The cyclical questions torment her.

*

“There’s a new pretty young thing that looks so much like you at the Blooming Rose.” Isabela tells her. Bethany looks up from her pint of beer. Her cheeks were flushed from the beer but now they go redder still. “If you’re curious,” Isabela continues, “I haven’t taken her to bed. Why settle for less when you can have the real thing?”

Bethany smiles nervously as Isabela sets a hand on her knee and leans in close. “Oh. That’s. Um....” She clears her throat. She isn’t sure that she wanted to know that there is a sex worker who bears a strong resemblance to her. She glances down at Isabela’s hand and then up to her face. “Is she very popular?”

“She must be with a face like that.” Isabela pushes back a few dark strands of Bethany’s hair away from her face. “You’re much prettier.” Bethany gulps and has a hurried drink of her beer. She never knows what to do with Isabela’s flirtations. She has no censor. Bethany can’t say that she doesn’t like the attention. It’s nice to be thought of in that way. Or is it? “Anyway,” Isabela drops her hand away from Bethany’s knee, deciding the neglected beer in front of her is far more important, “I only thought of it because it looks like the Blooming Rose is starting to become the  favorite family hangout, what with your look alike, Gamlen and that older sister of yours.”

“What?” Bethany stops mid-drink. “Marian? That can’t be.”

“Oh, look at how cute you are. Yes, ‘Marian’ or Hawke. One and the same. Sorry, didn’t know I was letting the cat out of the bag. And your sister is a cat. Not a fun, lovable thing like you.” She takes hold of Bethany’s chin who gapes briefly and then looks away.

“Who does she… spend time with?”

“Can’t say that I know. I’d have to check the books and I don’t care enough to. You could always ask.”

Bethany has never seen anyone at the Blooming Rose that might catch her eye. Then again, who’s to say what Hawke goes for? They used to talk about these kinds of things but not anymore. It doesn’t make sense. Hawke could have anyone. Why there? More than that, aren’t they trying to save coin for the Deep Roads? “None of this makes sense.”

“That’s life, Sweetness. If it made sense, it would be boring.”

*

Hawke comes home late. Bethany hears the front door shutting and Hawke’s fond words for their pet mabari before another door closes. Bethany waits and listens to the bath water run. It’s soothing and she drifts away thinking of what she’ll say to her sister when she returns to the room.

When the door creaks open an undeterminable time later, Bethany rolls on her side. She watches Hawke walk through the room, throw her towel over the chair and change into her thin night shift. Hawke’s body is thinner than it used to be but is no less for it. She is both leaner and more athletic than before. Hawke stops suddenly, back to her, in the midst of pulling the shift over her head, the fabric coiled around her shoulders. Bethany stares at her naked body and then down at the barely there mattress beneath her.

“What is it?” Hawke asks, pulling the shift further down and over her surprisingly shapely hips, much to Bethany’s relief. Not that it helps much. It isn’t much longer than what Isabela usually wears. “Why are you awake?” she adds bitterly, running a hand back through her hair.

Bethany wonders if Hawke knows how beautiful she is. If she did, would she waste her time at a whore house? What do people think and experience when they touch Hawke? Is she kinder then? Does she smile? “I was waiting for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Where were you?” Bethany adds quickly: “If you were out on a job you should have taken me.”

“I wasn’t.” She sits on the decrepit desk beside the bed, crossing one leg over another. Bethany catches a flash of her thigh and fidgets where she lies before sitting up. Isabela’s constant sex talk is sexualizing Bethany’s thoughts. She feels guilty. Maybe _she_ needs to go to the Blooming Rose. Or return Isabela’s flirtations. “Is there a reason for this inquisition, Bethany?”

“‘Bela told me you’ve been going to the red light district. To the Blooming Rose,” Bethany stammers. Hawke purses her lips before her jaw hardens. “I didn’t believe her. Until now.”

“It isn’t your business.”

“Why go there? You, of all people. You’ve other options.”

“This matter is not up for discussion.”

“Why not? We used to talk about everything.” Yes, before they’d fled Lothering. Bethany wonders if Hawke blames her for Carver’s death, or worse yet, wishes it had been him who had survived and not her. Does Hawke think thoughts like that? She would never have thought so before. Lately she isn’t sure. “It’s going to be hard to save coin if you keep going there. Is there…someone there that you like?”

“No.” then: “Will you shut up already?”

Bethany frowns. “Why do you have to be so mean? I wasn’t going to tell Mother. You help gather the coin—you’re entitled to—to…. Take care of… whatever it is you need to take care of.” Why did she have to tell her to shut up? Hawke looks crosser by the moment. Bethany swings her legs to the side of the bed and stands while Hawke glances at her uncertainly. Bethany wonders if she’s made her feel ashamed. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Bethany smiles faintly. She stands behind Hawke, resting her chin on her shoulder and wrapping her arms around her. Her arms hang lowly in front of Hawke who has tensed. “‘Bela told me there’s a girl there that looks like me. Wouldn’t Mother be scandalized?”

“Why should she be? It isn’t you.”

“You spoilsport.” Bethany pinches her cheek gently. Hawke slaps her hand away. “You’ve seen her, then?” Hawke is unresponsive. Bethany closes her eyes and leans into her. “If Mother knew about her I can just see her grabbing her by the ear and dragging her out. She’d ask where her mother was and tell her how our bodies are gifts to be cherished and respected.”

Hawke smirks. “It sounds like you’ve got Mother down pat.”

“I can’t imagine what she might be like. I suppose it is exciting that there’s another me—no doubt leading a more thrilling life.”

Hawke touches Bethany’s arm. “That woman isn’t you.”

“I should hope not. Unless I’ve been living a mysterious double life. Pretending to be one thing during the day and moonlighting as someone else at night.” She laughs softly and opens her eyes. Hawke looks at her. Their faces are close. Hawke’s lips are the color of ripe-red apples. Her eyes are easy to get lost in. Why does she want to kiss her sister…? Why does it look as if Hawke wants her to? Hawke who hasn’t looked at her for more than a few seconds at a time in months looks at her intensely now. Hawke grips Bethany’s arm as if to keep her close.

Bethany tries to rein in her thoughts. She’s reading too much into everything. She can’t even remember what it is that she’d been saying. This is as close as anyone who wants a kiss will get. That’s what’s confusing her. Or maybe it’s only because Hawke is looking at her at long last. Bethany lets her go and starts to pull away. Hawke still holds Bethany’s arm. They both notice. Hawke releases her abruptly. Bethany returns to the bottom bunk. “What’s sex like?” she asks.

“It’s good. If you do it right.” Hawke focuses on the desk in front of her.

She remembers Isabela saying something like that. She wonders how people can do it wrong. Will she do it wrong? “It must be if people pay for it.” Though she can’t imagine ever paying for a thing like that. Maybe she’s romantic. She’d like for it to be special.

“That’s simplifying things too much.”

Bethany leans back into the wall and pulls her legs to her chest. “Why do you do it?”

“It feels good.” She cuts Bethany off before she can ask again. “Sometimes you have to pay for what you want. Sometimes that’s the only way you will get it.”

“You can get anything you want, Marian. You don’t have to pay for it. Or steal it,” she adds before Hawke can think to interrupt. “Isabela wants to take me to bed. Should I let her?” Her heart pitter patters asking the question. She looks at Hawke but can’t see her face. Hawke rubs at her forehead. “What is it?” Bethany asks quietly.

“I’m tired. That’s all.”  She says softly. Bethany pulls the blanket over her legs. Hawke is contemplative for minutes before she goes to the bed and touches a hand to the ladder. She is silent for a time. “Bethy.” Bethany looks up at Hawke. The fireplace outlines her in gold. “You should never do what doesn’t feel right. No matter how another person may push you to or how you may want it.”

Bethany smiles. “Sisterly advice? Why, Marian. You do care.” Hawke climbs up to the top bunk without responding. Bethany remains against the wall still happy that Hawke has deigned to speak to her. Hawke has no idea how Bethany has missed her. “Don’t worry, Sister. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t push your luck.” Minutes later, when Bethany has lain down and turned on her side, thinking of the other her at the Blooming Rose, Hawke speaks again. “I was wrong to go to the Rose, Bethany. I won’t do it again.”

“You don’t need my permission.”

“I wouldn’t ask for it.”

And there she is again, being difficult. They never used to bicker. They were always close and friendly, joking. Bethany remembers running to her and not their mother when something was the matter and how Hawke would kiss away her tears and tell her a joke, righting whatever wrong with either words or bandaging. Now her sister, the great hero and shining example, visits whores. “Why did you do it? Was it really what you said?” Is she lonely?

“Bethany. I want you.”

Bethany sits up. She looks foolishly to the bunk above her wanting answers. Marian’s words are mournful. Bethany wants only to see her face. Is it a joke? Her heart pounds. She doesn’t know how she feels. “What?” she asks breathlessly.

 “Go to sleep.”

 

 

 


	2. Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn you, rich text editor! Comments welcome. And if this isn't your schtick, don't read. Easy does it!

The room is spinning. Her thoughts, muddled. Hawke looks around the room in a haze and rubs her eyes with the palms of her hand. Vertigo hits her when she takes a breath. She loses her footing but catches herself on the desk chair. Head lowered, Hawke sees her: Bethany, asleep. She doesn’t look at peace. It’s as if she knows how Hawke looks at her and doesn’t like it.

If Bethany were any other woman, Hawke could kneel on the bed and wake her with a kiss. If she were any other woman, Bethany might want her to. Hawke burns guiltily at the thought. She should have never made that promise to Bethany but she’s made it and she doesn’t break promises.

Hawke concentrates and takes one rung of the ladder at a time until she’s pulled herself to the top bunk. She can’t change out of her clothing. She’d fall and wake her. She’s had too much to drink and still it isn’t enough to make her forget.

Hawke drapes an arm over her forehead. She sighs slowly. _Get a hold of yourself, Marian. You can beat this. This is just… It’s only…_

No convincing argument comes to mind.  
*

“You’re _so_ tense.”

For an instant, Bethany thinks that Isabela is talking to her. She’s looking at her, a teasing smile on her lips—but she stands behind Hawke, hands on her shoulders, thumbs digging brutally into her back, massaging. Hawke wears her irritation lightly; her eyes are half-closed and look elsewhere. Bethany can’t tell if she likes what Isabela is doing. Then again, she doesn’t know anything that Hawke likes lately. Bethany has a sip of her beer. Isabela continues her efforts.

“You don’t have to do that,” Hawke says. But she doesn’t try to pull free. Her eyes light on Bethany a moment but move away quickly. Bethany leans an elbow into the table and spins a copper coin on its side, watching it twirl frenetically. Sometimes she feels like that coin. Hawke hammers it down flat with a slap of her hand. “Stop that.”

“You’re tense again,” Isabela warns Hawke. “How can you be so mean to such an adorable sister? I don’t know how you can stand not gobbling her up. I wouldn’t be able to help myself.” Hawke rips away from her. “Something I said?” She shrugs as if it doesn’t matter.

“Don’t you ever tire of flirting, ‘Bela?” Bethany asks.

“Not with attractive women. Was that an invitation? You might be a better plaything than your older sister,” she runs her fingers beneath Hawke’s chin before moving around the table to sit next to Bethany. “Have you been reading those books I lent you?”

“Those filthy things?” Hawke asks.

Bethany had not known that Hawke had seen them. She squirms, embarrassed. “Um—I haven’t read much more than the beginning pages,” she says truthfully. Having read so little had been enough to make her turn the deepest red. She’d imagined her mother or Hawke coming in and asking what she read—only to be left humiliated afterward—and hadn’t chanced reading more. She’d forgotten all about them. “I should return them to you.”

“Nonsense,” Isabela waves the suggestion away, “the more you read, the less I have to teach you.” She rests a finger at the bottom of Bethany’s chin and tilts her face to look at her. Bethany does. She should say something. Hawke’s eyes are on her. Bethany is unsettled. “You understand,” Isabela leans in closer.

“Do you have to force yourself on everyone?” Hawke’s ire is evident. Bethany looks away from Isabela to her sister who has slapped her hands on the table and stood.

“It’s not forcing if the party is willing.” Isabela smiles. “You really need to loosen up, sweet thing. If Bethany wants me to stop flirting, Bethany can tell me. You don’t have to fight all her battles.” She looks at Bethany. “Isn’t that right?”

“I don’t mind,” Bethany says to Hawke who narrows her eyes on her. “I mean… Isabela’s only being… Isabela.” She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Relax,” she adds more guiltily though she can’t imagine why it is that she feels that way.

“Fine.” Hawke says. “But don’t bloody come crying to me when she takes your virginity and runs.”

Isabela laughs. Bethany drinks her beer, hoping to hide her burning face. Hawke leaves without looking back or waiting for a response. Bethany doesn’t know if it’s the beer or the encounter that leaves her feeling so awful.

*

They’d ducked into a cave in the Wounded Coast to escape the brutal heat of the sun. Fenris and Varric had gone ahead while Isabela had taken the opportunity to snoop in the cave for ‘lost treasure’. Hawke had reluctantly stayed, lured by the opportunity for coin. There wasn’t any to be found. Hawke is drinking leisurely from a water skin when Isabela nudges her.

“You know, I rather like it when you’re acting the savage.” Isabela grins. “The other night,” she reminds her. “Did you really mean it when you said Bethany shouldn’t go crying to you if I take her virginity and run?” She laughs. “I wouldn’t go anywhere. Not for several hours, anyway. Who better to take her in her arms than her older sister, warning her of terrible, loose women like myself?”

Hawke is grateful not to blush at the words. “You’re perverted.”

“That’s what people like best about me.”

No doubt it’s true. Isabela is able to freely make the joke. She herself cannot. Nor can she delude herself into thinking that she wouldn’t like for Bethany to run crying into her arms. What sort of a monster is she? She’s more depraved than anyone else. She forces away any thought of the ‘comfort’ she’d like to give Bethany. Instead she focuses on the idea of Isabela upsetting her too trusting younger sister. “Make no mistake, Isabela: if you hurt Bethany in any way I will rend you apart, piece by piece.”

“Ooh. I just got the shivers.” She moans happily. Even the sounds she makes are enough to warm the cool temperatures of the cave. Hawke lingers near the entrance. The sand in front of her is near blinding. She’s in no hurry to walk for hours in it. “Why don’t you put that angry energy of yours to use?” Isabela runs a hand up Hawke’s arm, stands on her tip toes and whispers in her ear: “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good, hard fuck.” Hawke glances at her cautiously. “So…?”

“So?”

“You’re tied up in knots about something. You think I can’t see it? Why not work it out of your system? If we had a rope handy I could show you better knots to be tied in. But we don’t. I don’t mind if we play rough though and… you could stand to relax.”

Isabela is an annoying, overbearing woman. Despite that, Hawke is allured. She has been frustrated and her sexual appetite unsated. Isabela is attractive and willing. If she does this she’ll have broken no promise. Isabela is Isabela, after all. And better yet, she isn’t her sister. “Here? Now?”

Isabela chuckles. “Here.” Isabela pulls at the thread of her bodice and takes a step into the darkness. “Now.”

Hawke goes to her.

*

“You don’t really care about Isabela, do you?” Hawke asks.

Hawke has come home after a day long absence. She smells of the ocean and sand. Beneath that, Bethany can detect a hint of perspiration. And something else. Grains of sand cling to her hair and clothing, barely visible in the dim light. Bethany wonders if they think her dull for staying home. It had seemed like a good time to get caught up on housework, to help her mother. Maker knows Gamlen isn’t going to help. She doesn’t know why Hawke asks. “What? Why? We’re friends.”

“Nothing more?”

Hawke now has conversations without ever looking at her. She has her back to her as she pulls her cloak away and sets her blood stained sword by the wall. “Not really,” Bethany says. It isn’t that Isabela doesn’t try or that she isn’t tempted. She doesn’t know what it is. There’s no good reason she can think of.

“I’m happy to hear it. She’s no good for you.”

Why does Hawke always baby her? Hasn’t she done her part? “I think I can decide what is and what isn’t good for me.” Bethany expects a reaction but she doesn’t get it. Maybe she’d think differently if she could see her sister’s face. Hawke pulls her gloves away and lets them drop on the desk. Bethany turns the question on her. “What do you think of ‘Bela?”

“She has her uses. Just like everyone does,” she says under her breath, grabbing a few items. “I’m going to take a bath.” She looks around the room and the stack of Bethany’s folded clothing resting atop of a small wooden chest. “It almost looks presentable in here. Staying home and cleaning paid off, Bethy.”

Bethany nods and Hawke exits the room to the bath. Something has happened but Bethany doesn’t know what.

*

After all these years Bethany still tenses at the sight of templars. Hawke is used to casually stepping in front of her and obscuring her from sight. It worked well enough in the past, though she can’t hide her as well without Carver in tow. Hawke has never liked Hightown; it has an abundance of templars, scurrying about like ants.

A gentle push to the shoulder moves Bethany into the cover of an alley. Hawke leans against the building wall and listens to the clink of the templar men and women move about, talk about the runaway mages. Bethany’s face is a mural of worry. Hawke takes Bethany’s fingers, squeezing reassuringly. Some of the stress eases from her face.

Hawke hates that Bethany has to endure this. She doesn’t understand the close-mindedness of others. Ignorance and hatred run rampant, particularly in Kirkwall. No one in their right mind could ever fear Bethany; sweet Bethany who has the kindest soul of all. More templars are gathering; from the sounds of things they suspect a blood mage but in Hawke’s experience it is always a blood mage they suspect. She suspects they invent things.

Bethany is in near distress now. Hawke brings a hand over her heart. It slams into her hand forcefully, despite how Bethany’s face only reveals slight nerves. “I will never let them take you,” she murmurs quietly into Bethany’s ear. Bethany turns to look at her and Hawke’s heart leaps to her throat, faced with Bethany’s lips so close to her own. Is this madness that has taken her? She wants only to care for Bethany. Nothing more. She should want nothing more.  
“Maybe that would be best,” Bethany whispers guiltily. “It would be easier for everyone.”

“Are you mad? Why do you say these things?” Bethany turns her face away, eyebrows narrowed thoughtfully. Hawke wants to shake her, kiss her. “Look at me,” she orders. Bethany does. Hawke doesn’t know what to say to her. She can only stare and go uncomfortable. “I’ve spent my entire bloody life looking after you. I’m not going to stop now.”

“Marian…”

“We won’t lose you.” They can’t lose Bethany. She can’t imagine what it would do to their mother. What it would do to her.

Bethany’s glances to the templars collected outside of the alley. There’s at least eight now. “There’s so many of them.”  
She knows that Bethany means so much more than just the ones gathered several feet away. “I’m enough.”

“I hope so.” She drops her eyes. “I’m not so sure.”

Hawke doubts that Bethany knows how the words hurt her. Maker knows she wasn’t enough for Carver. She swallows the bitterness she feels. The templars look at her and Bethany. Hawke nods at them. They stare some moments and move on when a young templar rushes to them with news. Hawke bites her tongue and tries to still her beating heart. What if the templars had come after them? What would she have done? Cut them all down? Yes. Or die trying. “They’ve gone. Let’s go.”  
Bethany calls her name and tries to grab her wrist but Hawke yanks it away. Whatever kind words she has, whatever apologies, Hawke doesn’t want to hear them.

*

Bethany has been lying in bed for hours. Hawke isn’t home and Bethany can’t help but think that she’s partly to blame. Maybe she put her foot in her mouth. The last thing she wants Hawke to think is that she doesn’t appreciate all she’s done for her. Hawke used to bring her everywhere. Now she doesn’t look or talk to her. Bethany can’t confide in her without saying the wrong thing. Is there anyone she can confide in? How can she fix any of it when she doesn’t know what she did to break it?

She thinks of Hawke’s hand pressed over her heart. No one has ever done that to her before. Why did it have to be her sister? She sighs. She feels lonely or bored and Hawke and Isabela have been absent. As soon as she’s thought of them she hears the front door open. There’s laughter and scuffling. It doesn’t sound like Hawke. It sounds like Isabela.

Bethany gets up. The floor is dusty. She’ll sweep in the morning. Maybe she’ll sweep tonight and take a bath. She opens the room door and sees Hawke and Isabela. Isabela is saying something into Hawke’s ear. Or maybe she’s sucking on it. Bethany can’t tell. Her jaw tightens. She grabs the weathered door frame, the splintering wood scratches her hand. She should announce herself.

Isabela grabs a fistful of Hawke’s shirt and yanks her down for a kiss. Bethany waits for Hawke to resist but she doesn’t. Bethany closes the bedroom door quietly and returns to the bed in a daze. Is that why neither one of them has invited her out for drinks lately? She settles tensely into her pillow.

The bedroom door opens not a minute later. Hawke is alone. Bethany can’t uncross her arms. Hawke move unsteadily around the room. She reeks of alcohol. Bethany bites her lower lip. “Did you have fun tonight, Sister?” Hawke shrugs. She seems to turn in every direction. Bethany hasn’t known her sister for being a drunkard. “Why don’t you invite me anywhere anymore?”

“Do you need an invitation to everything? We don’t have to spend all of our time together.”

“I want to spend time with you.”

Hawke sighs. Hawke’s indifference wounds her. Bethany wishes it didn’t. How long have Hawke and Isabela been messing around? Has it always been under her nose? She had no idea. Is she a complete idiot? Maybe no one wants the naïve virgin around. She hadn’t thought she was so bad. She’s beginning to wonder. There are others to be with. But Aveline is always so busy. Fenris doesn’t like mages, Varric has business affairs, Anders stresses her out and Merrill is a blood mage…  
“You are going to take me to the Deep Roads, aren’t you?” Bethany asks. It hadn’t occurred to her that Hawke wouldn’t but now she’s unsure.

“I haven’t decided.”

“You can’t leave me here.” Bethany says. Hawke rests her hands on the desk chair, eyes closed, taking deep, deliberate breaths. Bethany doesn’t know if Hawke is too drunk to speak or irritated with her. “Won’t you talk to me? You can’t shut me out.” Bethany unfolds her arms. She speaks lightly. “Are you and ‘Bela… I saw you together earlier. Just now.” Hawke doesn’t move. “Are you sleeping with her?”

“What of it?” Hawke says without feeling. “I’m not the only one.”

“I’m not,” Bethany says sharply. She tells herself that she isn’t jealous. She doesn’t know that she’s ever been. She doesn’t know how it would feel. As it is, she wants to vomit. Her stomach does flips. She’s sweaty. It’s only because her two best friends have decided they don’t need her around anymore …Why would Hawke do that? “Weren’t you the one to say that she was no good for me, Sister?”

“She isn’t.”

“But you can go to a whorehouse and sleep with ‘Bela?”

“It’s just sex.”

“Why do you need to have so much sex anyway? I thought you cared more about people than to just… to just go around doing… whatever with whomever. You weren’t like this before.”

Hawke wipes at her face. “I tire of you pressing me for conversation.”

 _Why don’t you love me anymore?_ Bethany bites her tongue. The question borders on hysterical. Anyway, it’s a silly question. She knows that Hawke loves her. She watches over her. She keeps her safe. “What have I done that’s so wrong?” she asks. “Why is talking to me so terrible?” She stands but doesn’t stray far from the bed. Hawke looks pained. “What’s the matter?” she asks tentatively.

“You’re the matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing. Leave me alone.”

Bethany touches her arm. Hawke whips to the side, arm out, shoving her back. Bethany stumbles back from the force but doesn’t notice. She’d never expected Hawke to react that way from a simple touch. She stops just as suddenly. Hawke’s wrapped an arm securely around her waist, preventing her from slamming her head into the top bunk. Their bodies are crushed together. Bethany has never been so close to anyone in her adult life. Hawke whispers an apology. Bethany wonders how much Hawke drank. “It’s fine,” she says shakily. She doesn’t know where to put her hands or arms. On Hawke’s hips? Around her neck? Around her waist? On her shoulders? Her face? What if she loses her balance and falls? What if Hawke lets her go? “I don’t mean to bother you.”

“You don’t.”

Hawke holds on to the top bunk, though Bethany isn’t sure how strong her grip is. Is it any tighter than the arm circled around her waist? She doubts it. “I just want things to be the way they were.”

“Me too.” Her forehead presses to Bethany’s for an instant. Hawke’s breath, hot and heavily scented with alcohol washes over Bethany. There’s so much alcohol in her that Bethany doubts she’d need magic to set her on fire. A small spark might do it.

Bethany lifts her head. Her lips graze Hawke’s chin. Hawke sucks in her breath as if she’s been stabbed. Bethany doesn’t know if Hawke hears her apology. Bethany can’t ask. She’s too focused on the strength of Hawke’s arm around her waist and how she mourns it when it slips away. She doesn’t mourn long. Hawke’s hand shifts, sliding up her stomach, trailing along her neck, up to her face, the back of her fingers stroking her cheeks. It feels… She has no comparison. ‘Nice’ isn’t a strong enough word.

Bethany wants to close her eyes. But she can’t take them away from Hawke’s, Hawke’s eyes that burn, that make Bethany burn. Hawke who looks at her as if she were…someone else. Someone better. Someone worthy of notice and attention. Bethany would suspect any other person of wanting to kiss her. But Hawke is her sister. No matter how…exhilarating this may be, she can’t allow it. It’s confusing. It’s… Hawke’s only drunk. “What are you doing?”

Hawke blinks. She releases her, as if waking from a fog. Bethany crashes down to the bottom bunk, twisting her wrist painfully upon landing. “Nothing.”

*

Hawke knows she can’t drink in excess again. She’d nearly lost control. She kneels in front of Bethany who is seated on the bottom bunk and gingerly wraps the ribbon around her wrist. No matter how inebriated she’d been the night prior she can recall perfectly the softness of Bethany’s body and how hot her cheeks had felt beneath her fingers. Neither has Hawke forgotten how uncomfortable Bethany had seemed. She doesn’t know if she should dwell on that or if that’s the only thing she should remember. Hadn’t Bethany looked as if she’d liked it…?

“Can you move your wrist?” Hawke asks quietly. Bethany tests it, moving it up and then down and to each side. She nods. “Good. Don’t strain it. I’m sorry I dropped you like that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Bethany tugs lightly at the material as Hawke cinches it into place. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking.” She runs her fingers over the ribbon before letting her hand fall beside Bethany’s leg. She remains kneeling, penitently. Bethany’s fingers delve into her hair, stroking gently. Hawke purses her lips. It is a concentrated effort to not push her to the bed and kiss her. Hawke’s fingers twitch lightly beside Bethany’s leg, brushing it inadvertently. “The Deep Roads expedition is only days away.” Bethany’s fingers curl around her hair, pulling roughly. Bethany notices and her grip loosens. Hawke exhales shakily.

“I’m coming with you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I suppose arguing about it won’t help me any. You’re even more stubborn than Carver was.” Bethany says fondly though Hawke can hear the irritation in her voice work through. Hawke smiles faintly in agreement and Bethany shifts. Hawke finds herself seated on the floor, head resting against Bethany’s leg. Bethany continues to thread her fingers through Hawke’s hair. Hawke tries to tell her heart that it shouldn’t pound with excitement. She feels much the same as she did her with first crush so many years ago. “We should spend time together before we go. Who knows how things might change after the expedition. Hopefully everything will be for the better. I know I was a pain last night… but I hope you don’t mind if I get some of your time this week. I know there are others...”

Hawke closes her eyes and sighs softly. Hawke doesn’t tell Bethany that she is the only one that matters, the only one she needs, the only one worthy of time. “I’ve got a lot of things to get into place. I can’t make any promises.”

*

Bethany discreetly read the books Isabela gave her before returning them to her. The feat was easier than anticipated given Hawke’s absence and how much time Uncle Gamlen and her mother spend bickering. Her face, while reading, had gone so hot that she’d been surprised it didn’t melt away altogether. What must it be like to do those things? In some ways the acts can appear perfectly repulsive but something about their lack of dignity make them wildly appealing.

She and Isabela are seated at a small table sharing a pitcher of beer. Hawke has been scarce despite Bethany’s request but Isabela has warmed properly to her again. “So what did you think, Sweetness? Are you ready to brave the waters of sexual liberation?”

“I didn’t know you liked my sister. You’ve always spoken about her as if she were a tit.”

Isabela grimaces. “Ah… balls. Caught on, did you? Look, I’m not the kind of girl to turn down a good time. And it was a good time.” Bethany pales before reddening considerably. “But, I suppose you don’t want to hear about what your big sister is like in bed. Or on a cave floor.”

“You’ve got that right,” she frowns.

“I’ll just say that I’m glad she’s not my sister.”

“Why’d you have to say that for?”

Isabela laughs. “Anyway, we haven’t ripped each others’ clothes off in a few days. Maybe she’s stepping back for your sake?” She smiles when Bethany scoffs. “Your sister does have her sweet bits,” another laugh, “and she’s got a real soft spot for you.”

“Don’t all sisters feel that way? I can’t imagine not getting on with family.”

Isabela shrugs and continues with her typical flirtations. Bethany barely keeps up. The idea of Isabela and Hawke locked in passion makes her ill. Then again, she imagines it’s normal for all sisters to feel that way when thinking of their sisters engaged in any sexual activity. Bethany remembers Hawke’s eyes not long ago, brimming with what, she hadn’t known. She’d assumed she was only breathless due to the drink. But now that she thinks of it, her eyes weren’t too different from how Isabela looks at her at times, only more intense, not as playful. Or maybe that’s only fanciful thinking. No, it isn’t. “What is the matter with you?” she asks herself.

Isabela arches an eyebrow. Bethany shakes her head. She’s halfway through a pint. That explains any bizarre thoughts.

*

Hawke buys the small painting at the bazaar on a whim. It’s a small landscape, not much bigger than her hand but a perfect representation of Lothering. The landscape is dotted with small homes, animals graze in the pastures. Even the mud is there and that endless space of blue sky. She wonders what Fereldan might have painted it. Bethany might like it. Or maybe it’s only that she misses home. Things were normal then, weren’t they?

The Deep Roads expedition is tomorrow. If all goes well they’ll be rich beyond their wildest dreams in the span of two weeks. If not they’ll have scraped for too long only to have lost everything. At worst, they’ll live destitute for the rest of their days and Hawke won’t return alive.

Hawke wanders Lowtown aimlessly but doesn’t return to Gamlen’s immediately. Her mother has already spoken to her about leaving Bethany behind. It hadn’t been a conversation, really. She’d hinted and suggested. Hawke won’t argue it. Bethany won’t be coming. Hawke will not risk another sibling to the Dark Spawn. She cannot suffer another loss. Nor can their mother. If Bethany wants to hate her, that’s fine.

It will be difficult to tell her. She mulls it over and comes up with no solutions. She finds paper to wrap the painting and walks for another hour, until the sun is sinking below the horizon. Unable to delay things any further and with the cover of night settling in she goes to Gamlen’s. A roast is being cooked, an abnormality in their small home where meat is a luxury.

“You’re finally home. Bethany was worried sick she wouldn’t see you before you left. I won’t let you go off into the Deep Roads without a good meal,” her mother tells her. Hawke doesn’t miss Bethany’s wary look towards her mother. When Bethany looks at her, wanting answers, Hawke shakes her head lightly.

“You shouldn’t have, Mother,” Hawke says. Roast is expensive and whether she eats a fine meal or not before going on the expedition won’t ensure her survival or success. She supposes that it’s pointless and ill-advised to point it out. “But thank you.”

They eat dinner. Gamlen tries to get the largest portion while Bethany offers that she doesn’t have to eat at all. “When we’re living on the hill we’ll have as much roast as we want.”

“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, Bethany.” Hawke tells her, taking a drink of water.

“The expedition will be a success,” Bethany says adamantly. “It has to be. Don’t worry about a thing, Mother,” she says turning to Leandra, “we will get the estate back.”

Hawke eats wordlessly not wanting to encourage conversation.

*

“It’s warm in here.” Hawke says. She unlatches the belts from her armor before pulling the heavy steel away and setting it in a corner to the side. Even in her thin undershirt the room feels stifling. Moments later the light of the room dims considerably, leaving the room bathed as if by warm candlelight.

Bethany faces the fireplace. “Better, Sister?”

Hawke nods. She realizes that there’s no way Bethany would know of her agreement and goes to stand beside her. Bethany doesn’t look at her. The low light of the fireplace makes Bethany look like a beautiful painting come to life. Hawke curls her fingers to keep from taking her hand. “Are you all right?”

“Everything changes tomorrow. I’m nervous. I can’t say that I’m anxious to go where the Dark Spawn dwell.” She sighs and looks at her. “You were gone all day. The last time we fled the Blight in Lothering you and Carver came home so late. Mother and I hadn’t been expecting you then.”

Hawke smiles grimly. She and Carver had run so quickly, fleeing when Loghain had betrayed King Maric. She had thought the worst of things were over then. It’s hard to believe how naïve she’d been. She retrieves the gift from the desk and hands it to Bethany. “It’s nothing, really,” she says.

Bethany looks at her curiously before carefully undoing the plain twine and pulling the paper away. Hawke wishes she could have wrapped it more nicely. Bethany stares at the small painting. She smiles. “It’s Lothering.” She takes a step closer to the fireplace to see. “This one looks just like our home!” She points it out to Hawke who leans in closer. It does. “Oh, Sister, it’s lovely!” She throws her arms around Hawke, making her stagger backward.

Hawke quickly takes hold of her arms, pulling them away hastily. Bethany doesn’t realize. “Where should I put it? Maybe I should hang it above the desk?” She moves over to the desk, trying it at various heights before looking at it happily again. “Or maybe above my bunk? No! I’ll wait until we get the Amell estate back, after the Deep Roads expedition!”

“You should put it up now. Who knows if we’ll get the estate back?”

“I do wish you’d lighten up, Marian.” She sets the painting down on the desk, still smiling sweetly at it.

Hawke decides this is as good of a time as any. Perhaps she should have waited until afterward to give her the painting. “Bethany. I’m not taking you on the expedition.” All the joy on Bethany’s face drains. She looks blank and then angry. “Someone should watch over Mother.”

“Are you sure you’re not just babying me the way you always do?”

“Let me look after you.”

“Who will look after you? Damn it, Marian!”

Hawke bows her head.

*

Tears spring to her eyes. She’s humiliated. The way to prove herself to Hawke is by presenting a good argument—not by crying when Hawke treats her like a pesky younger sister. Hawke looks at her and Bethany hurriedly wipes the tears from her eyes. “I’ve helped you. I’ve helped you collect the coin for this expedition.”

“I know.”

“And you still refuse to let me go? That’s not fair!”

“I’m sorry.”

Bethany covers her face with her hand. She doesn’t want Hawke to see her like this. She knows how Hawke is. If she’s made up her mind there won’t be anything to change it. Her shoulders tremble. She’s slowed the flow of tears but the pent up emotion shakes her.

“Bethany.”

Bethany can’t talk. She’s afraid trying to will loose a sob.

“Bethy. Talk to me.”

Bethany shakes her head.

Hawke walks closer. She takes hold of her shoulders. Bethany tries to push her away but Hawke’s grip only tightens. “You know I can’t stand to see you cry.”

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” She hates how weepy she sounds.

“No. That isn’t why.”

“But you have been avoiding me.” Bethany says.

Hawke removes the hands from Bethany’s face. Bethany looks at her older sister, striking in the low golden light. Her eyes are luminescent. Hawke doesn’t answer her question. She kisses the tears from her eyelids. Bethany takes a nervous breath. Hawke’s lips are warmer than her tears. “What will happen?” Bethany asks, even as Hawke’s lips brush the corner of her mouth, taking more tears away. Bethany feels that her heart will burst.

“You’ll be safe,” Hawke whispers.

Safe. What is safe? Is this safe? A current of electric danger runs through the air. “I’ll feel better if I’m with you. I’ll be so worried if you’re alone.” Bethany wraps her arms around her neck again and draws her close. She’s never seen Hawke so ill at ease. She’s never been so close. This is closer now than the last time. Not a drop of alcohol clings to Hawke. It’s reassuring. But she’s tensed again. She draws back but Bethany pulls her back in, nestling her face in Hawke’s neck. Bethany melts into her. Hawke breathes again. Her fingers trail along Bethany’s arm. Once more, Hawke pulls away. Bethany holds her arms, refusing to relinquish her but Hawke escapes her hold.

“Don’t do that...!”

There’s a lump in Bethany’s throat. She can’t imagine why her sister is so angry at simple affection. “Why can’t I?”

Hawke turns around. She takes a breath. She walks toward the door. She’s leaving again. It’s imperative that she doesn’t. Bethany takes her arm. Hawke turns, angrily. Bethany doesn’t have the chance to say a word before Hawke has knocked her to the door. Bethany’s eyes widen. She’s shocked by the hard slam against the door, but more so by Hawke’s lips, savagely on her own, hands pressed to the door to either side of her. No one has ever kissed her like this before.

Bethany moans but she isn’t sure if it’s with complaint or pleasure. She’s unsettled by what Hawke is doing and just as disturbed by the heady pleasure that soars through her, making her lightheaded. Her lips part. Maybe she meant to say something. Hawke’s tongue slides against hers. Bethany knees buckle. Her fingers grasp Hawke’s head, threading through her hair. Hawke presses a knee between her legs—it’s just as well. She might have fallen to the floor otherwise. Bethany kisses her with as much ardor as Hawke gives. Hawke emits a small gasp and their lips meld together again.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is so wrong. But she doesn’t want to stop. She has to stop. She can’t do this. This is Hawke. This is her _sister_. Bethany pushes her away. She regrets it as soon as she sees Hawke’s face, hurt and ashamed. Bethany pants for breath. Hawke straightens. Bethany thinks that there is no one more beautiful than her sister, lovelier than her sister. She’s never made love to anyone before but she wants to pull Hawke to bed and do the things that are in Isabela’s books with Hawke.

Hawke curls and uncurls her fingers nervously. She stares at the floor.

Bethany moves past her and crawls into bed, facing the wall. She closes her eyes and tries to forget the heat of Hawke’s lips and tongue, the small sounds of pleasure she’d made. Bethany wants to hear her make them again. The thought disgusts and entices her. “I’m going to sleep. Good luck on the expedition.”

“Bethany…”

“Goodnight,” she says again. She hopes Hawke doesn’t come close. Suddenly all the distance makes sense. How long has Hawke had those kinds of thoughts? How long has she wanted to do those kinds of things? Had she fantasized about her…? The thought is titillating and unnerving. Everything is a contradiction. She never wants to think of that kiss again. She wants Hawke’s hot mouth to remind her. Bethany wants her to go. She wants her to climb on top of her and take her. Nothing makes sense.

Hawke doesn’t say another word. She leaves. Bethany remains facing the wall. She doesn’t chase after her.


	3. Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meredith! Yes. I love her.
> 
> *

It passed in a blur. Her rage pushed through the exhaustion. Her mother, frantic, the templars, ready for battle. Hawke’s fingers curled tightly along the hilt of her sword. It was Bethany’s eyes and not her words that stopped Hawke from taking action. Bethany. Bethany was an apparition: there one moment, gone the next.

Hawke walks into the room in a daze, ignoring her mother’s screams. She has Gamlen. The dilapidated room is lifeless without Bethany. Hawke falls into the bottom bunk and sits, drained of all reserves.

Her sister lay here last night. She will never sleep here again. Hawke touches the pillow, lowers onto it. It smells of her. She stands and props herself on the chair in front of the desk. She hurls it at the wall. It fractures, clunking to the floor in pieces. She takes shallow breaths and wipes at her face.

She thinks of the last time they’d shared the space. No matter how she had tried on the expedition, how she tries now, she can’t forget what she’s done. She can’t forget Bethany’s soft mouth and how she’d arched into her, how she’d yanked her close. Had Bethany wanted her…?

No, she’d pushed her away. The last moment spent with her sister had been…inexcusable. She’d let Carver die, she’d betrayed her sister’s trust, abandoned her and let her be taken by the group she fears most. Does Bethany hate her? She has every right.

Hawke returns to the desk and lays her shaking fingers down flat. The painting, her last gift to Bethany, is gone.

*

The painting of Lothering, small and irrelevant to the casual observer, has become her lifeline. She hasn’t hung it on any wall, preferring instead to keep it at her bedside, to pick up and admire, to reminisce and remember. She tells herself she doesn’t keep it because it’s the closest reminder she has of Hawke, Hawke who was infuriated upon coming home to see the templars, Hawke who had looked as if she were on the edge of breaking.

Bethany misses her.

The Circle isn’t as bad as she’d imagined. She’s passed the Harrowing. The templars are mostly nice. The other mages are friendly. The Knight-Commander is…frightening… but familiar. She looks at her with condescension and mild interest. She’s covered in heavy steel and carries a massive sword. The feared Knight-Commander looks much like a fiery spirit of vengeance: beautiful and striking but dangerous.

Better not to think about her.

She lies down on the bed, marveling at how much more comfortable it is than the bed at Gamlen’s and stares at the painting, at the small block of paint that looks like their home. Hawke never behaved that way towards her then. That was years ago. They were younger.

Bethany enjoyed Hawke’s adult treatment. Maker. She shamefully turns her face into the pillow. It’s best that she’s in the Circle now. She’ll miss Mother, she’ll miss Hawke and her heart will break…but at least she can maintain some sense of what’s right.

She sets the painting on the night stand and hugs the pillow close. She’s uncomfortable in her body. It wants to be touched. She closes her eyes and tries to forget the stone walls. She thinks of Hawke; she thinks of what it was to kiss her and shuts her eyes tight, wanting it to go away, wanting Hawke to be here, alone with her, behind locked doors.

Maybe it’s best that she’ll never see her family again.

*

Knight-Commander Meredith is not blind to how Bethany Hawke has turned the heads of mages and templars alike since newly arriving in the Gallows. Bethany seems unaware of the effect she has on others and Meredith is grateful that she does not strut about the halls like some of the more vain glory peacock mages that dwell about.

Meredith has heard of the Amell family before, former Kirkwall nobles, now Fereldan refugees living in Lowtown. It’s more proof that magic spreads like a cancer over the lives of those it touches.

Bethany Hawke watches her furtively. Nothing escapes Meredith’s notice and not this: the way her eyes skirt over to her when she passes by in the hallways, nor the way that they lift when Meredith enters a room. Sometimes she feels them burning into the back of her head. She’d be flattered if it wasn’t a mage that watched so closely. Once Meredith had returned her gaze directly. Bethany nearly ran into a wall.

It’s all very interesting. Meredith is compelled to return her attention.

*

The whore at the Blooming Rose is gone.

Hawke is disappointed but she tells herself she’s relieved. She’d hate to break a promise. The promise is kept, technicality or no. Months have passed and she hasn’t heard from Bethany though she knows that she’s written to their mother. That’s fair. Hawke doesn’t blame her for being angry.

She spends her days sitting at the wharf and looking at ships. She wishes she could undo time and return them to Lothering. They had been a family then. She’d never had those thoughts then. Has all that has happened twisted her mind? Has losing so much made her want to be too close?

Isabela sits next to her. She likes to watch ships dock. She’s averse to the Qunari presence, like Bethany. “I’m sorry about your sister.” Isabela says. “I know she meant a lot to you. She’s sent me a few letters. At least she doesn’t seem too miserable. That’s something. She must write to you often.”

“All the time.” Hawke considers it a feat that her voice remains steady.

*

This is captivity. It takes her months to notice despite the mounted, suffering slaves, despite the endless sprawl of iron bars. She dreams of the open skies and plains of grass. She dreams of Lothering and her family. She dreams of her. Distance and time dull the pain but it makes her feel like a traitor.

Bethany keeps her face indifferent. If you smile too much, it looks as if you’re hatching a scheme. If you frown too often, it looks as if you’re planning rebellion. She tries to blend into the background as best as she can, years of hiding from templars a difficult habit to shed. She excels at magic, more so than anyone else, even the instructors, but she doesn’t let them know that.

The Knight-Commander watches her with frosty, disdainful eyes. It’s wrong, or she’s wrong, but Bethany is drawn by her contempt. They haven’t spoken, despite that Bethany has been there nearly a year. When Knight-Commander Meredith passes by she gives Bethany a stern nod, acknowledging her meager presence before moving onward. Sometimes the Knight-Commander looks at her as if she is an interesting person… but that is rare.

One late evening, in the darkened, deserted halls that are walkable only by flames of the torches licking on the walls, Bethany sees her. Usually, like with Hawke in the past, she can hear her before then. The weight of her armor, her stride is a calling all of its own.

Perhaps Bethany is feeling daring or reckless. The Knight-Commander turns to look at her but Bethany doesn’t stop, doesn’t acknowledge her. She keeps walking. The clamp of hard steel on her upper arm, cold and demanding stops her in her tracks. Bethany knows that no one but the Knight-Commander has her in her grasp.

Bethany swallows the nervous energy, the confusing nervous and excitable energy and braves a look back. The Knight-Commander smirks, sensual and mocking and releases her. She goes on her way and Bethany, flummoxed, on hers.

*

Bethany is not the youngest mage in the Circle by far. But she is young. Orsino is taken with her. He is as gleeful as a schoolgirl. Meredith finds the display pathetic but Bethany, stupidly impressed by someone of position, is warm to him.  
Meredith notices her come in and out of his office. She knows that they aren’t sleeping together. He wouldn’t look so much like a brittle branch ready to snap at a moment’s notice if they were. To her knowledge, Bethany is not involved with anyone in the Circle. There are rules against that sort of fraternization but Meredith knows that the mages fornicate, if infrequently. She’s not willing to dedicate templar hours to overseeing _that_.

Meredith makes notes of all the work there is to be done. She has some leads on runaway mages that must be followed up on immediately. She puts the thoughts on hold when the door to Orsino’s study swings open. Bethany Hawke steps out. Meredith continues to write but sets the quill down after a sufficient amount of time has passed and she’s heard no step taken. “Enter,” she commands. Bethany enters. “Shut the door.” Bethany looks at her, at the First Enchanter’s study, back at her and then shuts the door. “Sit.” Bethany sits.

Meredith stands. She straightens the paperwork on her desk and sets it inside a drawer. Bethany looks at her with apprehensive curiosity. The girl’s brown eyes are warm but surprisingly strong willed despite any nervousness. “Other mages keep their heads down and try to avoid my attention but you spend a good deal of time looking at me. Why?” The girl is quiet. Meredith goes around the desk and takes a seat on the corner. “I asked you a question, girl.”

“I don’t know. I think…that you remind me of someone.”

“Who?” Meredith asks. Bethany’s eyes dart away. Meredith waits until she is certain enough silence has passed and she will not be receiving a response. She leans down and takes Bethany’s chin in her hand. Meredith knows how cold the steel must feel against her skin. Bethany’s breath fogs the reflective steel a smoky gray. Meredith gives one sharp tug to her chin and Bethany spills forward before catching herself on the edge of the desk. She exhales nervously as Meredith brings her face closer. Bethany’s eyes flit along her face, unable to catch her eyes.

Meredith releases her just as suddenly and rises from the desk. “That is all.”

*

Almost six months after Bethany sends Hawke her first letter, Hawke gathers the courage to respond. It’s near morning and she’s been unable to rest. She hasn’t slept well in over a year. She sets the stiff but creamy, satiny paper on her bedroom desk and takes her time, dipping the quill into the ink and readying her writing hand.

She breathes deeply as if ready to dive into the bottom of a deep lake. She composes the letter several times in her head, editing it each time to strip it of sentimentalities. The love she holds for her sister can only ever be misread. When she is sure she has it to her specifications she begins.

 _Sister,  
You may have heard that the Deep Roads expedition was a success. Mother and I have recovered the Amell estate and we are financially secure. If you’ve need of anything, please contact Mother or myself and we shall deliver the appropriate funds._

 _Marian_

She sets the quill down carefully, not wanting a drop to fall on the paper, but is negligent. The underside of her hand smears the ink making it appear as if a tear has fallen onto the letter. Hawke curls her fingers into tight fists. The sound she makes is a strangled cry, and not the sigh of exhaustion she’d expected to release.

*

Hawke’s solitary letter is efficient. Bethany reads it many times over but can find no shred of affection in it. Maybe what had happened in their room had been madness. It’s been near two years now. Time and absence has lessened Bethany’s unnatural, conflicting desire. Yes. It’s best to be in the Circle. Bethany stows the letter away in the drawer beside the painting of Lothering. She looks at it less frequently these days.

A sharp gust of wind smothers the candles that burn in the room. Bethany rises from the bed and looks up at the window. It’s nightfall. The days have come and gone with little to distinguish them, until now.

She exits the room and walks the labyrinth of hallways. They feel differently in the darkness. Or perhaps it is only their context, still fresh and exciting that gives them new life. She counts her footsteps. She knows how many it takes to reach her destination. She’d counted the first few times to contain the wildness of her heart.

Until her arrival. Until the door pulls open. She feels her heartbeat crash into her. Bethany steps inside. Meredith silently presses the door to a close. Bethany always listens for the safety of the click.

Meredith’s hands are soft when stripped of armor. They glide along her arms and Bethany thinks of her. She lifts her face, wanting to see Meredith, seeing her. She is beautiful. Her eyes, in the light of day are icy, near white. In the glow of the fire, when she draws her close, they’re darker, like sapphires illuminated from within.

*

Meredith had not expected her to be a virgin. Fereldan girls from poor villages like Lothering tend to spend their free time on their backs when they aren’t attending to farm work. Despite her beauty, Meredith isn’t surprised that Bethany Hawke is different.

The issue is moot. Meredith hadn’t taken a lover in too long. If someone had ever suggested she would one day take a mage as one she would have struck them. As the Knight-Commander of the Templar Order it is unethical. She would not tolerate such behavior in any member of the order.

It is a moral quandary. Bethany is, for all intents and purposes, a fine woman to take for a lover. If it were not for her magic things may be different. Meredith is grateful that the girl abhors her abilities and sees them for the danger they are. It’s near impossible to encounter a rational mage who isn’t shouting about victimization or mages rights. Unlike other mages who dare to speak to her, Bethany has never broached the subject of the mages plight to try to get her to come around. Nor has she once suggested being allowed out of the Circle to see her family. All these things work in her favor. It is all right because Bethany isn’t like the others.

Meredith wonders if she is weak.

The girl is asleep on the bed, lying flat on her stomach. The blanket has collected at the small of her back, draping her modestly though Meredith can see a light caramel leg, long and shapely, free of the fabric. Meredith goes to the bed and feels nervous anticipation bait her. She runs her fingertips along Bethany’s back before kissing her shoulder, a hand slipping beneath the sheet and Bethany’s lovely, small gasp, evidence that she’s awakened.

Meredith lights her fingers gently along her neck, shifting her face so that she looks at her. “Good morning,” Meredith says. Bethany’s response is drowned in a kiss.

*

Hawke straightens her clothing. Her tongue touches the bitter slice on her lip, cut open in a moment of passion. Now it is finished and she has no reason to stay. Isabela lounges on the bed, stretching contentedly. Isabela is watching her but Hawke lets people ponder and speculate, without commenting. Whatever other’s opinion of her may be, it does not concern her.

She goes to the washroom and washes her hands and face. She does not want to linger. She and Isabela have nothing in common. Hawke wonders if she’s unfair to the pirate. Who can ever measure up to Bethany? At least her sister is safe now. Safe from her. That is a comfort. The crushing pain she’d initially experienced at losing her has faded to a dull ache. It is bearable. She does not trust the templars. She will never trust an authority that has power over a group of pariahs.

Hawke likes to think that whatever confusion it is that she suffered, it has passed now. If she ever sees Bethany again she will only feel a sisterly fondness towards her. But she won’t see Bethany again.

Isabela’s happy grin wears at Hawke. “What are you smiling about?”

“You are never going to fall in love with me,” Isabela says delightfully as if the revelation were a decadent, cream filled pastry.

“No. I won’t.” She goes to the desk to retrieve her arm guards. They’d been errantly thrown there in their earlier haste. Hawke sees now the sheets of paper they fell onto. Even the dirt, caked on the arm guards and having tarnished the paper, does not stop Hawke from noticing the familiar handwriting. Her heart leaps but she picks up the guards as her eyes catch only glimpses of softly curved words.

“Spot them, did you? You weren’t meant to see those. Your sweet, younger sister is a naughty girl. Why couldn’t she have been this adventurous when she wasn’t in the Circle?”

Hawke turns away from the letter, sensing it’s best for some semblance of self-preservation. She picks up her arm guards and fixates on strapping them to her arm, yanking at the leather belts and making sure they’ve latched properly into place. She pulls too tightly and they cut into her.

“Aren’t you a little curious?” Isabela asks. Hawke straps the other arm guard on. Minutes pass. Hawke sits on the bed to pull her boots on. “I remember what you said to me when you still reacted to anything involving Bethany. I’d like to see you scare the Knight-Commander away.”

Hawke stands. “Spare me your stupid jokes.” She leaves and doesn’t bother shutting the door.

*

Bethany isn’t surprised by the Qunari uprising. She’s always been guarded around them since the loss of her friends in Lothering. Meredith has never made secret of their perceived threat. Unexpected or no, the loss of life is a tragedy. The citizens of Kirkwall are no match. She doesn’t know of anyone who can stand against the Qunari except for Meredith…and Hawke.

The city is in chaos. This is not how she’d expected to leave the Circle, though she’s spent more time in its confines than she ever did freely in Kirkwall. She’s missed so much, even the death of her mother. The realization is disquieting. Not even hours outside of its walls and she may soon perish and join her family. But she must get to Orsino. She won’t give in to despair. The pervasive thought drives her. The loss of more life cannot be afforded. She’s frantic. It makes her careless. She is preoccupied with corpses of her fellow mages, strewn, like rag dolls, on the streets of Hightown.  
And then everything goes black. Tides of distant sound pound wave-like into her. She hears screaming and clanging metal. Her head throbs.

When she comes to she thinks that she still dreams. Orsino is there, yes. Aveline, too. Most importantly, walking toward her, wielding her indifference, is Hawke. Distance and time is obliterated but Hawke seems unaffected. Bethany responds with clipped words to Hawke’s generic greeting and then Meredith is there, just as Bethany knew that she soon would be. Bethany knows that her letter to Isabela has done its work. Hawke’s eyes trail slowly from Bethany, to Meredith, until she watches the both of them with icy reserve.

*

Whatever the Tome of Koslun may have been; it’s gone, absconded away by a thieving pirate whore. Meredith cannot imagine the selfishness requisite to commit such an act, an act that risks countless lives for personal gain, but Meredith has long ago stopped trying to understand the darkness of the human condition. In the end, the pirate’s selfishness caused the death of many but the woman, Hawke, has put a stop to things and to the Arishok.  
Hawke stands in the throne room of the Viscount’s Keep with the head of the pathetic Marlowe by her feet, holding a bloodied sword, showered in crimson. A terrifying sight at any other point, has become the rallying point for the shouts and cries of victory from the Kirkwall nobles.

Thus, with great displeasure, Meredith declares Hawke the Champion of Kirkwall. The woman has been a thorn in her side for years, a mage sympathizer and a vocal opponent of the Templar Order. It is only carelessness, or the more pressing matters of the Qunari that led Meredith to forget her relation to Bethany Hawke.

A woman like Hawke can be problematic. Bethany watches her older sister, trembling like a leaf, her jaw squared tightly. Meredith notes how both women make a point to not let their gazes settle too long on one another. Meredith would have expected a warmer reception for two sisters who have been years apart.

*

Every noble in Hightown wants the Champion of Kirkwall to attend their parties. Hawke initially resisted before giving in. She thought that blunt and direct conversation would be enough to deter the nobles from seeking to speak with her and would end the constant stream of soiree invitations but they haven’t stopped. Everyone is always in a hurry to agree with her and Hawke can’t decide if it’s because they’re afraid of what she’ll do if they don’t agree or are only eager to curry her favor.

This mansion doesn’t look too different from many of the others she’s visited. Hawke has already forgotten who is hosting the festivities this evening and has stolen away from the crowd despite being the celebrated guest. She reclines into the doorway of a dark ballroom. In the distance by the elaborate glass doors, moonlight shining through, she spots a piano covered with a blanket like a ghost. Hawke stares at it and drinks from her goblet of wine, letting her tongue coil around the flavor before swallowing the dry, parching liquid. Her fingers unwittingly scratch at the scar along her face. She can’t deny to herself that she’s at this party because home is lonely. Isabela took the Tome of Koslun and ran without returning. Her mother is dead. Bethany is…

Hawke turns at the sound of heavy armor and the sudden rise of whispered conversations. The Knight-Commander is in attendance. Hawke thought that templars had better things to do than attend parties: murdering innocent mages amongst them, perhaps intimidating the chantry into being even more useless than they already are. Bothered, Hawke has another drink of her wine but makes no point to greet the ‘revered’ guest. To the void with the Knight-Commander and her blighted titles.

The Knight-Commander, however, is not as willing to ignore her presence. The whispers of the gossiping nobles, ringing in Hawke’s ears like vipers, rise steadily the closer the Knight-Commander comes. Hawke returns her attention to the blackened room and the discarded piano. It’s a pity that something so beautiful has been neglected.

“The Champion of Kirkwall has deigned to attend a noble’s party,” Meredith says. She leans into the other side of the doorway but faces opposite of Hawke, towards the crowd that watches.

“As the Knight-Commander has.” She takes another drink of the wine. “You may have given me this pointless title but don’t think I’ll be kissing your ass in gratitude. I didn’t want it. I want nothing from you.”

“Bold words to spew to the only person in Kirkwall who can grant any request.”

Hawke glances at Meredith and imagines her touching Bethany. Her heart wrenches but her face is impassive. What the void is Bethany thinking? Has she lost her mind? Sleeping with the most vile of enemies? Even she’s a better option than that. Or maybe that’s only wishful thinking. No, it isn’t. Bethany’s safety is key. Maybe she ought to be friendlier to the overzealous Knight-Commander who may literally hold her sister’s life in her hands. On the other hand, she could just cut the bitch’s head off and become Viscount of Kirkwall. It’s a thought. “I want to see Bethany.”

“You already have,” Meredith says with a sliver of a smile. “It may have been fleeting but it is more than other families are afforded.”

Hawke knows Meredith’s type, the kind to bask in the power they have over others. Typical templar trash. Did she coerce Bethany into… whatever it is that has happened between them? “Don’t play games. You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Meredith allows a silence that Hawke doesn’t rush to fill. Hawke finishes her wine and is brought another one by an eager attendant. When he hovers Hawke tells him to leave. Meredith chuckles. “I can admire a woman who doesn’t mince words. In the four years that I have known Bethany she has never mentioned wanting to visit you. She’s never spoken your name.” Hawke says nothing though she is aware how her jaw has tensed. She brings the goblet of wine to her lips but doesn’t drink. “Why should I do this?”

Hawke imagines murdering her. “It would be the decent thing to do. I don’t want to hear how if you make an exception for me you’ll have to make one for all the families of Kirkwall. I did what you could not—I stopped the Qunari menace and saved the chantry. You know full well why you gave me the title you did. It had nothing to do with my accomplishments and all to do with your position. I know you think little of me.” She casts her eyes at Meredith whose eyebrows have buried menacingly.

“I don’t trust you, _Champion_.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“You harbored a mage.”

Hawke wonders to whom Meredith refers: Merrill or Anders. She almost feels foolish when she picks up on her meaning not a moment later. Hawke scoffs. “You couldn’t possibly mean my sister.”

“Who else could I mean?”

“The mage that I ‘harbored’ is in your care now.” Hawke’s throat clasps in on itself, making the next words difficult, despite how light they sound as they come out. “Obviously I did not harbor well enough.”

“The people of Kirkwall see you as aligned with Orsino, banded against the existence of the Circle. I have records of you, Champion, speaking vocally against the Templar Order and the chantry’s teachings.” Meredith says heatedly. Hawke has a drink of wine in response, her cheeks warming with the drink. “What would I get in return?”

Hawke laughs caustically. “You will seem a gracious host, to my dear sister.” A sheen of sweat springs to her forehead and neck at Meredith’s cold, arrogant smile.

“That isn’t enough.”

“I won’t play this game with you. Tell me what you want and quit beating around the bush.”

“I want you to support the Templar Order, vocally, as well as the chantry. When I have word of runaway mages I want you to bring them to me. When I have word of blood mages, I want you to put an end to them. I do not want to be questioned when I make these demands.”

“Oh. Is that all?” Hawke burns with anger. The Knight-Commander would have Hawke betray her every belief and turn against those like her sister, hunt innocent mages, all for the opportunity to see Bethany. “You’d have me do your job for you. Again.”

“Spare me your indignation, Champion.” Meredith says rancorously. “You can either see your sister or you cannot. The decision is yours.”

Hawke swirls the bloodied wine in the goblet, watching how it stains the edges red. Minutes pass in silence. Will she take the principled stand and never see her sister again? Bethany had been cold when they’d met during the uprising. Hawke has dreamt of her every night since that encounter weeks ago. The wine makes her thirstier and she drinks every last drop, hoping to quench her thirst but finds that it’s impossible. She steels her spine and looks dead on at Meredith. “Fine. Let me see my sister and I’ll bring you all the bloody mages you want.”

Meredith’s smile is small but undeniably triumphant. “Agreed.”


	4. Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very adult chapter. In other words, kiddies, don't be reading here! Also, super special extra thanks to Fixative who drew two _beautiful_ scenes from this chapter. Ah, if only I were talented...
> 
> *

Meredith does not tell Bethany that the Champion is coming. Meredith has not mentioned the bargain she made with the mage’s older sister. It suits them all best that way.

Meredith spends more time with Bethany than usual before the Champion’s arranged visit. They make love for what doesn’t seem like very long but is in fact hours. The Knight-Commander appreciates their time together.

Meredith passes by ‘coincidentally’ when Knight-Captain Cullen escorts the Champion to Bethany’s designated room. Hawke’s eyes are the opposite of Bethany’s. They watch Meredith blankly but Meredith knows that the Champion hates her; she hates her because it is now Meredith that controls her destiny.

Bethany doesn’t look at Meredith once she sees her older sister. Hawke steps into the room cautiously as if it were a trap. It is, in a sense. Bethany doesn’t take her eyes from The Champion. Meredith can’t read her face, try as she might. The shock, perhaps, has shattered any telling clues. Knight-Captain Cullen closes the door. He exchanges a look with Meredith who moves away to deal with impending and far more pertinent matters.

*

The room is larger than anything Bethany had when Hawke or their Father was in charge of her welfare. There is a desk made of fine cherry wood and several bookshelves filled abundantly with books. The room isn’t as large as Hawke’s in the estate but neither is it cramped. There are small decorations, Bethany’s usual touches to make a place feel lived in and comfortable. Hawke doesn’t see the painting she gave her.

The walls are cold stone stacked atop of one another. There is a window several feet above, useless for someone who might be interested in casually looking out. Bethany had told her once that this would be easier. On the outside it might seem that way. She no longer has to hide, she’s with others like her and any material needs she may have appear to have been met. Hawke wonders if all the years of protection did more harm to Bethany than good. Maybe their family was only selfish to want to keep her near.

Should she have brought a gift? The last time she saw her was over a month ago at the Viscount’s Keep during the Qunari uprising but that had been brief. They hadn’t talked or looked at one another. Hawke only has glances now, afraid to let her gaze settle too long on her younger sister who is more of a woman than ever. Just how tightly does Meredith have her wrapped around her finger? Is it as tight of a vice as she’s placed around Hawke’s neck?

Bethany wrings her hands. Hawke looks around the room once more still searching for the painting but finally accepts that it isn’t on display. Maybe Bethany threw it out. She won’t tell her that the room is nice, even if it is. She does not want Bethany to grow complacent and think that being imprisoned is a novelty that she should be grateful for.

Bethany, perhaps feeling equally at a loss for words says: “So you’re Champion of Kirkwall now. That’s nice.” Hawke picks up a figurine of Andraste from Bethany’s desk to keep from telling her how stupid what she’s just said is. After a moment she returns it to its proper place. “If I’d have heard that years ago I would have thought…” Hawke looks at her. “That it was another of Varric’s stories,” she tapers off. Hawke doesn’t know what to say to her. “Please, sit.” Bethany looks towards the bed and frowns.

“I’m fine standing.”

“I didn’t know you were coming. I didn’t think something like this was possible. I’ve only ever heard that it’s impossible. It might have been nice if I’d known. For when Mother…” she scratches her forehead gently. Hawke wonders if Bethany blames her for their mother’s death. “It might have been nice to see someone.”

“Someone?”

“You.” Bethany eventually says. She looks at the nightstand beside the bed as she says the word and then takes a careful seat on it. Does the Knight-Commander take her younger sister on this very bed? The thought makes Hawke’s blood boil over. “How are you here?”

“That doesn’t matter.” She has no intention of letting Bethany know the disgusting bartering that was done to allow any visitation.

“Why are you here?”

“Do you want me to go?” she hates the hard, defensive tone of her voice.

“No.” she sounds dazed. “No.” Bethany shifts her hands on her lap before her fingers lace nervously again. “It isn’t bad here,” she says with a look around the room. “The templars are kind, for the most part. Sometimes I wonder why I waited so long.”

“Because you weren’t so stupid so as to think that you don’t deserve freedom.” This is the kind of talk that the Knight-Commander has cautioned her against, but to the void with her. She won’t join their charade and pretend that her sister’s imprisonment is a blessing. “This is what you want? Will you pretend that our family’s sacrifice so that you could grow up knowing what it was to have a family or the light of the sun on your face was? You love that more than anybody. You’re satisfied with a prison?”

“This isn’t a prison it’s a—”

“Call it what you bloody want. Deep down, maybe not even there, you know what it is.”

“Why are you so angry?”

 _Because I’m alone now and you’re stuck here. Because I bloody miss you and you don’t appear to miss me. Because it was all for nothing._ “I wanted better for you.”

“You couldn’t have watched over me forever.” She gives a small shrug. Hawke rests a hand gently on the desk chair and silently disagrees. “How is everyone?”

“I didn’t come here to talk about them.”

“Was there something you came to talk about?” she asks tentatively. Hawke clenches her jaw tightly, the edges of her teeth clamping down on her tongue until she tastes blood. She swallows the rusty taste and runs a hand over her hair. So much for having put away everything that’s happened. Has Bethany forgiven her for what she did? She’s too embarrassed to ask. Maybe the worst thing she could do is talk about it. Hawke finally shakes her head in response to Bethany. “We haven’t spoken in years. Not really. You haven’t sent many letters.”

“I have things to do. According to you, you’re well taken care of.”

“Is this about—”

Hawke jumps in, refusing to allow the possibility of discussion. “Use your head. Use your bloody head and think of what you’re doing, really, really think of it. Do you know the Knight-Commander’s reputation? All of Anders’ ranting is putting the situation mildly. So what do you do? You stupid, stupid girl.”

“I won’t have you talk to me that way.”

“The truth hurts. If you think for a moment that you’re any different to her than the mages she hunts down and murders you’re a bloody fool. You’re a toy to her.” Hawke says. Bethany’s face is red. She stands from the bed, her fingers curled tightly. Hawke sneers. “Are you going to hit me, Bethy?”

Bethany’s voice is tight but it shakes. “Do you want me to hate you?”

“Because I’ve spoken against the Knight-Commander?” Because she kissed her years ago? Because she’s still so clearly in love with Bethany no matter how she may hate herself for it?

“Why do you want me to feel ashamed?”

“I don’t! But I won’t tell you it’s a good idea. What are you thinking? What are you bloody thinking?” she asks, her voice getting louder and more demanding. “If you didn’t want me to know you shouldn’t have bloody told Isabela.” She holds back the accusation that Bethany did it on purpose. “You know she can’t keep a damned thing to herself.”

“Except that relic of hers,” Bethany shoots back. “Why are you like this? You used to be kind. It’s no wonder ‘Bela...” she stops and drops her eyes.

“Say it.”

Bethany doesn’t say anything. She looks at her. Hawke stares back at her for a long time and ignores everything that she feels at Bethany’s words and eyes. Unable to choose an appropriate response or action she exits without saying anything, doing anything. She is angry but not at Bethany; she’s angry at the situation. No matter their differences she will never surrender her sister’s life to forever be a prisoner. If Bethany hates her for voicing that opinion so be it.

*

“Fine. It went fine. It was fine.” Bethany tells Meredith when she asks. Bethany feels Meredith’s eyes boring holes into her. They’re seated in Meredith’s room at a small, round table. Each woman has a glass of wine but the bowl of fruit and the plate of cheese remain mostly untouched.

Meredith lifts a grape, holding it between her index finger and thumb, rolling it a moment before bringing it to her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “Are you and the Champion close?”

It’s strange to hear her sister referred to in that way. It’s a title that estranges her from Hawke. Are she and the Champion close? No. Who is that woman? Is Hawke even Hawke anymore? Was Hawke the Hawke Bethany knew the last time they were together, when they shared a room at Uncle Gamlen’s? Or is Hawke buried? Why did Hawke have to say the things that she did? Why did she? “We’re as close as sisters can be, I guess.” That’s a lie, though. They’re closer and more alienated than that. “Do you have family?”

“Not anymore. You spoke, then?” Meredith asks. Bethany is accustomed to Meredith changing the subject when it doesn’t suit her; a trait she and Hawke share. Bethany does something that’s like a shrug. Yes. They’d spoken. Not enough. Nor had she seen enough of her sister. She had been too afraid to properly look at her. “Is it repeatable?” she asks with a mild smirk.

Bethany wonders if she is as stupid as Hawke thinks she is for trusting her. “We didn’t really talk about anything.”  
“After so many years of absence?” She has another grape. “Interesting. You do not ever have to see her again. If that is what you would prefer.”

Bethany looks up at Meredith in a panic before hurriedly turning her gaze to the wine glass. She is momentarily frightened of Meredith seeing too much desire and fear written so clearly on her face. She has a drink of wine. “I’d like to see her again,” she mutters, finger scratching gently at the back of her neck. “If you would allow it.”

Meredith smiles.

*

The door to Meredith’s study bangs open and a teenage mage is shoved through. The Champion follows after dispassionately, wearing an expression of distaste. The mage keeps wiping at his nose and mouth that run with blood. Meredith stands. A few of the templar members in the hallway retrieve him after listening to her direction.

The door is closed behind them. Meredith fixes her gaze on Marian Hawke. Both sisters have elegant, attractive features but don’t look very much alike. Meredith surmises it’s a matter of disposition. “You’ll be a proper Champion in no time.”  
“I’m not here to be condescended to by you. This is a business arrangement. Neither one of us has to like it. We’re getting what we want.”

“But what of Bethany? Is she getting what she wants? I can’t attend to all of her needs,” she offers a pale, dark smile. Hawke looks incensed. “She did not suggest to me that your visit was favorable. I am of the mind that visitation should cease altogether.”

“That wasn’t the deal.” Hawke says sharply, stepping forward with a coiled fist. Meredith watches her with a degree of amusement. “Since when do you let mages dictate what you do? Soon word will get out that the Knight-Commander is soft and a mage sympathizer. For once you're doing my work for me and not the other way around. I will not keep silent about this.”

“Still the melodramatics, Champion. You will continue to see your sister as long as you behave accordingly. _Are_ you behaving accordingly?”

“Are you?”

Meredith flicks her eyes over the woman. She is insubordinate to the extreme but has recently been helpful and wildly successful in capturing mages. Meredith is a proud woman but she is not a stupid one. She will not allow her vanity to stand in the way of what’s right. Nor will she allow a cocky shit like Marian Hawke influence what she does. “How is your relationship with your sister?”

“That isn’t your business.”

“Anything concerning a mage is my business. Whether they are a rat from a Fereldan village or a child of noble blood.” Meredith spits out. “Do not test me, Champion. No matter. Your response is answer enough.” Hawke glares at her. “I am a patient woman but you continue to wear at my patience. See to it that you do not exceed my limits.” She pauses to look at her. “You are dismissed.”

“Not yet. There’s something else. You will allow Bethany to leave these walls. She’s become pale trapped in this prison.” Hawke says.

Meredith laughs caustically. “You ask for too much. Why would I ever grant such a request?”

“I’ve already accepted the reality of never seeing my sister again. But you can’t begin to fathom what it would be to lose your station and all that power you’ve accumulated through brute force throughout the years. What would Kirkwall think of the Templar Order, the Chantry and you’re bloody stupid cause if they knew the Knight-Commander was fucking a mage?” Meredith is momentarily stunned that Hawke would speak without reservation. “I am not asking that she live outside, only that she be allowed some hours outside of this dungeon.”

“You continue to push your luck, Champion.”

“You have far more to lose than I, Knight-Commander. I don’t give a shit about titles or power. I’ve had enough of this political bullshit to last me a lifetime. Reject my request, if you want. The people saw _me_ put an end to a Qunari menace. They see you and your order bully children and other innocents. You may be a bitch—but you aren’t stupid.”

“It isn’t wise to blackmail the Knight-Commander of the Templar Order in this city.”

“Nor is it wise to knight someone the Champion of the same city and then blackmail them into doing your dirty work. You’re a hypocrite.”

“Get out,” Meredith growls, her heart pounding wildly with rage. “And think long and hard before you ever again speak to me thus if you wish to ever see your sister again.” Meredith glares at the desk, hearing the door slam behind Hawke as she exits.

*

Hawke’s eyes drift to the small painting of Lothering positioned just above the bed. Bethany watches her intently, noticing the red in Hawke’s cheeks flare uncharacteristically. Had it meant something to her after all? Bethany hopes that Hawke can forgive her for being too cowardly to apologize with words; she hopes this gesture will be enough.  
Not having seen Hawke for weeks had made her fret as if being told that the lovely thing that she’d only tasted was never allowed to her again. Bethany is pained by Hawke’s beauty and the way her eyes brush over her as if she were nothing more than decoration.

Bethany remembers how she’d yanked Hawke to her years ago, fingers buried in her hair, breathing shakily as they’d kissed. Does Hawke remember…? She isn’t brave enough to ask Hawke to look at her. The last time they’d seen one another it’s all Bethany wished for. Why did Hawke return after things had gone so sourly? Does she forgive her silly younger sister?

“Has ‘Bela come back?” It’s easier to talk about other people than themselves.

“No.” Hawke pulls the chair from the desk back delicately and sits. “She won’t. I don’t care.” Bethany studies Hawke to see if there’s anything that may betray her words. There isn’t.

“She was your…” What was she? Girlfriend? Special friend? Friend? There’s another term she can’t even imagine thinking. “Wasn’t she anything to you?” Hawke says nothing. On closer inspection, her eyes are little like Meredith’s. They’re darker and more magnetic. Maybe the years made her forget. It’s easy to feel fondly towards her when she isn’t speaking. Bethany can fill the silences with words of the past. “You’re not going to be alone forever, are you?”

“I don’t settle as easily as you do.”

Bethany frowns. This again. Yes, she’d sent the letter to Isabela. Yes, she had wanted Hawke to know. Why? She thought it might still Hawke’s mad desires. Or her own. If they both knew that she was unavailable, that she had been claimed, in fact, by an authority greater than family, greater than the Maker, they would be forced to move on. She had been taken by the Knight-Commander, a woman who could not be challenged. “You don’t get to talk about Meredith. She's allowing us to see each other.” Anyway, she and Meredith care about one another, don’t they?

“Out of the goodness of her heart?”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. You've made your opinion of the Circle and the Knight-Commander clear.”

Bethany bites her tongue. “I don’t want us to always fight.” Hawke’s eyes skirt over hers. Bethany wonders if she is only imagining her silent suggestion for what they might do instead. “I know that you don’t like that I’m here but don’t act as if it was my choice.”

“You’ve settled in nicely.”

“Would you prefer I be miserable? If you had taken me to the Deep Roads with you maybe I wouldn't be here.”

“And you might be dead, too. I won't play 'what if' games with you. I've done it long enough on my own.”  
Does Hawke blame herself for what happened? That has always been her way: to take too much responsibility for the outcome of things. Bethany unknowingly walks closer. Hawke watches her apprehensively. Bethany is taken by the overwhelming desire to straddle her sister in the chair.

Does Hawke want her to? What would she do? It doesn’t matter what they want, she tells herself. “That painting that you keep looking at is the only thing that kept me sane for years.” Hawke finally looks at her. Bethany absentmindedly realizes that Hawke had given her the painting only minutes before she’d kissed her. “How were you with… everything?”  
“I survived. Just barely in some instances,” she adds quietly.

“I wish we could have talked more.”

There is something that Hawke was going to say that she doesn’t. Bethany wonders what it might have been. Was it going to be awful? Was it going to be sweet? Can it be both? It can be both. “We’re talking now.” Hawke says. Her eyes drift back to the painting. Bethany has cupped Hawke’s face before she can stop herself. Before she can think. Tension ripples through Hawke. Her gaze drifts downward and away from Bethany’s face. She releases a shaky breath.

Bethany knows then that Hawke’s feelings for her haven’t changed. All the lingering hostility and resentment makes sense. Bethany’s hands slip back, grazing along the tips of Hawke’s ears. She bends over Hawke, still sitting, and kisses her hair. Hawke closes her eyes. Adrenaline runs like a current over Bethany.

Wanton desire makes her unsteady. Her Circle robe is too hot and confining. She takes Hawke’s arms, hanging limply at her side and brings her hands to her thighs. When Hawke doesn’t look at her, Bethany overlays Hawke’s hands with her own and pulls up, fingers clenching around the fabric until Bethany feels the cool air hit her skin.

What is she doing? Ensuring that years of making herself forget have been in vain? Ensuring that the future isn’t in vain. Hawke looks at her breathlessly, her face red. Bethany shifts Hawke’s hands so they slide along the inside of her thighs. She presses against the pressure of their combined touch and sighs softly, cheeks flushing with color when the touch grazes along where Bethany wants Hawke’s touch most. Hawke whispers her name, parts her lips to speak again but Bethany lifts her finger to Hawke’s lips. If either one of them says anything she might change her mind and for once she wants to be wildly irresponsible. The tip of Hawke’s tongue lights on her skin before her hot mouth circles the finger. Bethany goes dizzy, remembering how madly she’d wanted her older sister years ago.

She grasps Hawke’s hand, sliding it beneath her underthings, only then aware of how slick she is and how Hawke’s touch makes her want to scream. Hawke watches her cautiously. She reaches her other hand up to gently hold Bethany’s face. It all appears very sweet until it becomes apparent that Hawke isn’t only cupping her face. They watch one another. Bethany isn’t sure if Hawke wraps an arm around her waist before or after Bethany straddles her. Hawke’s fingers continue their exploration, drawing slivers of dizzying pleasure from her. Bethany takes Hawke’s face in her hands and locks their eyes. Hawke’s raspy breath, as if she were the one being touched, drives Bethany wild. The cold armor that Hawke wears is a striking contrast to Bethany’s hot flesh. When Hawke’s fingers slide into her, Bethany arches her back, squeezing their bodies together as best as she can, despite the barriers between them. She can’t deny that this is what she’s run away from and wanted for years.

This is lunacy. She is in the Circle. She is the lover of the Knight-Commander. This is her sister. This is dangerous. No fact stops her from grinding her center against Hawke’s hand and fingers. Hawke trails her tongue leisurely along Bethany’s neck and Bethany loses control. She winds her arms around Hawke, behind her, settling her hands along the edges of the desk, gripping it tightly before wrapping her legs more fiercely around Hawke. Hawke sets a hand to the small of Bethany’s back, steadying her. Hawke eases her finger out of her, stroking her gently before thrusting her fingers into her, withdrawing them once more before slamming them into her again. This time, Bethany can’t hold back a cry and she moans. This is wrong and she’s never wanted anything more.

Hawke covers Bethany’s mouth with her own. Her kiss is a violently tender contrast to what it was years ago. It is so soft, so loving, that Bethany wants to weep. This is her sweet Marian, after all these years. Fucking her so deliciously… Oh, Maker. What is she doing? And why hadn’t she done it sooner?

*

It wasn’t what Hawke had planned. She’s in a daze throughout it and afterward. It isn’t the Bethany she remembers. Her Bethany never… But it had certainly been at her urging. Hawke wonders if she’s been seduced. As she leaves the Gallows she thinks of Bethany’s honeyed mouth, her heat, her eyes, how she’d responded to her every touch and all the beautiful sounds she’d made that had been silenced with a kiss. They hadn’t spoken, they hadn’t removed any article of clothing. When it was done, Bethany unwittingly biting and cutting Hawke’s lower lip to keep her climax quiet, they’d kissed gently, both of them shivering. Bethany stood, robes falling to cover her legs again, fingers to her hot cheeks self-consciously.

“It was good seeing you.” Bethany said when Hawke’s hand circled the doorknob.

Hawke stared at the door. “I’ll visit again.”

Hawke accepts that there’s no hope for her now. She wipes the blood from her lip, her small trophy. Every terrible thing she’s had to do to see Bethany becomes suddenly irrelevant, all of it worth the cost.


	5. Suspicion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea how much longer this will go on. Probably not much longer. Another very M-Rated chapter.
> 
> *

Something has changed.

Bethany has periods of dreamy eyed absentmindedness followed by bouts of what, Meredith doesn’t know. She suspects it’s guilt. In any case, Bethany is distracted. She apologizes frequently, citing no particular reason for asking Meredith to repeat herself. Meredith placates Bethany but resents her for having the gall to not listen as dutifully as others do, as she always has.

Perhaps her flightiness can be attributed to youth but the unbecoming behavior is new and Bethany is no longer the girl she was when she first arrived at the Circle. They are both on unsteady ground. Meredith feels cracks forming beneath them making their standing precarious.

Meredith cinches the sash more tightly around her robe. Bethany is seated across from her on the table, delicately tugging the Circle robe that has slipped down her shoulder. “Is something the matter?” Bethany asks. Bethany looks steadily at her, concern evident in her face and voice.

Meredith gives a small shake of her head. Perhaps she is imagining things. That must be it. Bethany would not turn against her. She would not dare.

*

“There’s blood on your hands.”

Hawke is turning her hands to look when Bethany takes them. Bethany traces her fingers along her knuckles and fingertips. Her fingers come away red, the blood not fully dry yet. Hawke curses her haste in visiting, in having had too much blood on her throughout the years to even take notice or think it strange anymore. Bethany turns her eyes curiously to Hawke who has difficulty meeting her gaze.

Hawke fears that she imagined what happened between them or that Bethany will turn against her or refuse to admit it happened, refuse to let it happen again.

“I thought things were slow in Kirkwall,” Bethany says, not taking her eyes away from Hawke’s. “What happened?”

Hawke doesn’t want to talk about the things she must do to see Bethany. She wonders how frequently the mages talk amongst one another and how likely it is that one of them will reveal to Bethany her role in their capture. It would be best to tell her as soon as possible. It would alienate Bethany from the Knight-Commander but perhaps it would be Hawke whose actions she would find unforgivable. “I don’t want to talk about it.” It’s the only honest thing she can think to say.

“But you’re all right?”

A moment passes before Hawke gives a solitary nod. Bethany mirrors the action and releases her hands hesitantly despite maintaining her proximity. Hawke grows nervous now that the conversation has come to a lull. Has Bethany thought of what happened? Does she no longer want any part of it? And what of the Knight-Commander? Is she still under Meredith’s thrall? Guilt gnaws at Hawke. Is this what’s right? Her sister sentenced to life in the Circle, a life from which by all accounts is one of seclusion and loneliness. She won’t be allowed to marry or bear children. She’s taken the Knight-Commander and her own sister as a lover. Hawke’s heart aches for her.

“You’re so quiet,” Bethany says. She takes a step away, a hand in her hair. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

“So…” Bethany looks through the barred window to the flawless cerulean sky, “How are things? It’s been... How long has it been?” she says the last to herself, quietly, brow furrowed delicately. Hawke watches her, knowing how often she takes beautiful days for granted. “It feels like weeks. Has it been?”

“I’m not sure.” It’s felt longer than weeks but she’s fairly certain it hasn’t been. Her response works to how things have been since their last meeting. “How have you been?” Her words are stilted. No doubt they are both thinking of what it is that happened. Hawke looks at the chair by the desk and sees what it was that occurred between them as if it were unfolding in the very moment.

“Good. I mean. I don’t know.” She faces her, beams of sunlight comes down to touch on her face and hair. Hawke’s heart jumps. “I don’t really know what to think,” she admits softly. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Hawke is discouraged to hear her words of minutes ago repeated back to her. She nods again. “It may be best to never talk about it.” Hawke bobs her head again in agreement despite her disagreement. There’s no sense in telling Bethany how the words cut into her. After some silence Bethany smiles somewhat bashfully. “You used to talk more.”

“You’ve told me to say nothing.”

“I haven’t.” There’s a beat. In the next moment she’s close again, breathing words into her ear. “I’ve been thinking of you. I’ve done nothing but think of you.”

Hawke closes her eyes, wanting to remember the words and how Bethany’s said them. She forces herself to rouse and look at her. “Are you happy here?”

“Don’t ask me that.”

Why can’t she? Hawke bites her tongue. She rests her hands on Bethany’s shoulders but lets them fall away when she sees the blood on them. “That’s answer enough.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t assume.” She shakes her head. “You’ve always assumed too much.”

“Then tell me. I’m no mind reader.” When Bethany says nothing Hawke continues. “Are you in love with that woman?”

Bethany, who had turned away, looks to her once more. “Are you looking to lecture me again?”

“I’m the last person who should lecture anyone.”

“It’s never stopped you before.”

Hawke sighs inwardly. She can’t say what it had been that she’d expected of this visit. Not more of this. Not more fighting. Maybe it’s too easy for them to fall into their old routines. Hawke doesn’t think she’s been confrontational. It matters if Bethany is in love with the Knight-Commander but Hawke knows her curiosity isn’t entirely altruistic. “I haven’t come to lecture or argue with you. You can’t fault me for asking questions.”

“But _why_ haveyou asked?”

“Does it matter? It takes only a syllable to answer it. No doubt you think it’s none of my business. Forget I’ve asked.” Hawke sees the painting still pinned above the bed. Everything had been different that last time. Now it looks to be business as usual. Bethany bites her lip. “I’ll go, Sister.”

“You’re assuming again,” Bethany says sharply.

Hawke wants to ask Bethany how she is to draw any other conclusion. “You want me here?”

“Yes.”

“Then bloody act like it.” She shakes her head and draws her breath. She apologizes. “You make me feel like a lunatic,” she says softly. Any action having to do with Bethany has required some mad action or thought process. If the truth ever comes to light will Bethany forgive her?

“I’ve heard rumors of you to that effect. You certainly act that way.” She offers a grim smile that shakes Hawke to the core. There are those in Kirkwall who think she’s too severe and unrelenting. Maybe she isn’t altogether different from the Knight-Commander. The thought is distressing. “I don’t know that it’s fair to blame me.”

Is Bethany teasing? Her younger sister can be smart assed and deprecating from time to time. Hawke is grateful if the Circle hasn’t killed that in her. “I don’t know who else to blame.” She takes her shoulders again, her fingers digging tightly.

Bethany looks at Hawke’s hands and then at her. “You don’t?”

“Besides myself? Besides you? No.”

“If you keep talking like this I’ll think you never want to kiss me again.”

Once more, Hawke’s hands fall away from her. “Don’t play with me, Bethany.” She doesn’t have the energy to be angry. She sounds small and defeated. She had foolishly pinned too many hopes on this visit, none of which have materialized. Now it feels as if Bethany is taunting her, telling her that she has thought of nothing else while instructing her to not speak of what has happened.

“I’m not. Sorry.” She takes a breath to speak again but shakes her head, deciding against it. Then: “Have you ever thought for a moment how scared all of this makes me? I begin to make sense of it all and accept it and you come in here and… make it all unbearable and bearable in one.” She pauses. “Meredith knows something is wrong.”

“Wrong?” Hawke asks. Bethany gives no response. “Let me handle the Knight-Commander.”

“You think it’s so simple? She controls everything, everyone. What can you do against her? I don’t want you to do anything against her. Marian…” she crosses her arms. “I care about her. She isn’t as bad as everyone says.”

“She orders the capture and death of mages. That isn’t bad to you?”

“There are bad mages out there. We both know that too well. She does what she must.”

Hawke scowls.

“Don’t be angry with me. When you’re in here you see things differently, that’s all.”

“And where do you see me? Do you think any of this has been easy for me? Do you know what I must do to see you?” Bethany’s puzzled and alarmed face is enough for Hawke to cease speaking. She’s being childish and striking out at Bethany for something that is no fault of her own. Hawke’s feelings are not Bethany’s responsibility. “I was wrong to come here and think…”

“And think?”

“You know how I feel,” she says in a mournful undertone. “It isn’t right. I don’t expect for you to think it is but I can’t change it. I have tried.”

“Sometimes accepting what isn’t right is all that life is.”

“You’re not that way.”

“You’ve always thought I’m more innocent than I am.” Bethany smiles bitter-sweetly and sits on the bed, hands carefully draped on her lap. Hawke sits next to her. “Please forgive your confused, younger sister. The things that I want and the things that I do—I know they aren’t always right. I try to do what’s right. We both have. It doesn’t always work out that way. Life isn’t so easy to package. I wish you’d come earlier today.” Hawke looks at her. “Meredith will be here soon.”

Hawke grits her jaw. “Why her?”

“She reminded me of you.”

“The woman is filth.”

“I don’t think so,” Bethany says quietly. She looks up to the bars of the window and the light that filters in. “There’s still time.”

“Time?”

“You have never known how much I love you.” Bethany says tiredly. Hawke looks down at her bloody hands. “Every time I tried to show you, you resented me for it. I loved you still. I loved you all the more to make up for your…dislike. I know that isn’t what it was now. Love doesn’t make sense, Sister. If it did, if it were meant to… I don’t think Father or Mother would have been together. Maybe you and Isabela would still be together.”

“I never loved Isabela. Do you love Meredith?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think I do. Sometimes I think I never could.”

The door opens and the Knight-Commander steps inside before Hawke can say another word. Hawke stands. Bethany remains sitting. Hawke looks at Bethany and to Meredith who watches them both like cat’s prey. “I forgot to tell you why I came,” Hawke tells Bethany. “The Knight-Commander, in her infinite kindness, has allowed you visitation outside of these walls once a week.”

The joy on Bethany’s face, quickly stifled and then bared once again for Meredith, does little to quell Hawke’s uneasiness. She brushes past Meredith, feeling angry and dissatisfied. Meredith takes her arm fiercely. “You weren’t meant to tell her the good news, Champion.”

“I would not see your kindness hidden a moment longer, Knight-Commander,” she yanks her arm away but doesn’t say goodbye to Bethany. The visit has left her empty and depressed. She stifles the mounting rage that sweeps through her when the door to Bethany’s room shuts silently behind her.

*

Bethany wishes Meredith had not come.

It is the first time she’s had the thought. The guilt that she’s buried since being with Hawke bubbles to the surface. Meredith is kind. She allows her to see Hawke. She treats her well. She can’t resent Meredith any more for being wary of mages than she can blame Hawke for not trusting Meredith. She’s foolish for wanting them to get along.

There is something different in Meredith’s gaze. Bethany doesn’t know when it began, if it was before or after she was with Hawke. Meredith looks at her, into her, through her. Bethany wonders if she knows. No, she can’t know. She’s only paranoid after what she’s done. Regardless, Meredith seems suspicious and Bethany can’t identify why.

“You never told me I’d be allowed to see my sister,” Bethany says once the door is shut and Meredith has moved close. The hem of her Circle robe brushes Meredith’s boots when she stops. Bethany touches the red hood that covers Meredith’s golden hair and pushes it back, thinking that it softens her. When she is all steel, her eyes the coldest thing of all, she frightens Bethany. That is a recent feeling.

“I didn’t.”

“But I can see her…? Outside of here?”

“I don’t like it.”

“But you’re allowing it?”

Meredith’s lips twist and then settle. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Meredith allows a long beat. “Because I can. Because I trust you.” Bethany doesn’t know whether she should feel guilty or relieved. Both feelings flush through her. “Because the Champion agreed to my terms.”

A prickling sensation starts at the back of her neck. She thinks of Hawke’s bloody hands. “Your terms?”

“It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with.” Meredith’s smile is cold. Bethany winces when Meredith touches her face. Meredith’s jaw tenses. She grips Bethany’s face tightly but Bethany no longer feels the rush of exhilaration like she did before. There is malice in Meredith’s features, a quality that many mages have spoken of before but one that Bethany has never personally seen. “Why do you look at me that way?”

“That hurts.” Bethany says in a small voice.

Meredith releases her. She has spent many hours lately cooped up in her study. It has worked favorably towards Bethany’s end who hasn’t been able to concentrate on anything that isn’t Hawke. Today’s visit was a disaster. She had not thought things would go so poorly. She’s never stuck her foot in her mouth so often as she has when Hawke has visited in the Circle. “You’re always in poor spirits after she visits.”

“That’s not true,” Bethany mutters. It’s only that she leaves her thoughts in disarray.

“Why do you wish to see her? You are not cut of the same cloth. She is ill-tempered and thoughtless. You have the ability to see reason; an ability that a Champion needs and one that she sorely lacks.”

“Hawke has aided Kirkwall. You know that.”

“More than you know,” Meredith says with another chill smile. Bethany wishes suddenly to chase after Hawke, to bring her back, to hide behind her as she did in her youth, to have her shield her from the templars. It’s silly. She only regrets how poorly things went. That must be why she’s having these wild imaginings. “I trust I’ll see you tonight?”

“I’m tired. And I have lessons to arrange.” Bethany says. It’s true. Mostly, anyway. She doesn’t know what to think. Being with either woman makes her feel guilty and ashamed for the other’s sake. Meredith watches her. “Unless you’re intent on forcing me into early retirement? What would the children say?”

“They’d move on the way they always do.” Meredith laughs softly. Bethany doesn’t know what expression it is she’s making. She had made a joke and she isn’t sure if Meredith made one in return or if she had made a threat, or a promise, as it looks like she has. Bethany wonders if drinking so much Lyrium really does cause madness as she’s heard others say before. But Meredith isn’t mad. She’s having a bad day, as she is. Everyone is entitled to those. “Plan your lessons, girl. Neither one of us is going anywhere.”

Meredith leans in close but doesn’t kiss her.

*

 If only the Champion weren’t an unreasonable zealot. Meredith does not expect everyone to be Elthina; Maker knows that would be too much to ask for. The Champion’s influence in Kirkwall is growing too quickly. The fool people speak favorably of her, nobles and peasants alike. She does as Meredith asks but she does not _believe_ in what she does. She sees turning in mages as business and not her Maker given duty.

She holds too much sway, even over Bethany Hawke.

Meredith had not thought they were close but every time the women see one another Bethany acts differently towards her. She’s distant. What manner of things does the Champion tell her? Does she try to turn Bethany against her? Can Bethany be persuaded?

Meredith takes a drink of Lyrium. The door to her study is sturdy but lately there have been more lay-abouts in the hall, speaking loudly, manifesting into whispers in the study. Meredith can’t silence them no matter how she tries though Bethany appears undisturbed. She rubs her forehead. Bethany works on paperwork opposite of her, her face a myriad of deep thought.

Meredith takes her hand. Bethany doesn’t look up. Her fingers wrap around her hand reflexively.

*

Bethany takes her time exploring the home. Hawke wishes she had been here to see it when their mother was alive. It would have made Leandra so happy to have the both of them home. Hawke thinks of their mother. She’d never been truly happy again since Malcolm and Carver had passed. She’d only existed. Hawke had wondered how she could live such a joyless life and now she finds herself channeling the same feelings of their departed mother.

The home is too large for her. Bethany’s presence makes it bearable and brings it to life in unexpected ways. Hawke has often imagined her here. If only she could be here again and not on loan so to speak. Damnable bloody Knight-Commander.

“It’s lovely. I still can’t believe I was allowed to leave the Circle. How did you manage it?” Bethany asks.

Hawke shrugs. “How does it feel to be out?” 

“I don’t have the words for it. Except to say that I’m happy. And I’d missed the light of the sun on my face. The heat.”  Bethany says. Hawke can’t help a smile. Bethany had been delivered by the Knight-Captain Cullen. Hawke had not been able to see the light on Bethany’s face but to hear her say the words, to admit that there is fault with the Circle and that it does not provide all that it should agrees with Hawke. It means that she is not so complacent. Bethany goes to the writing desk at the foot of the stairs and picks up a stack of envelopes, some sealed, some open, some heavier than others. “So many letters. Do you read them all?”

“Eventually.”

Bethany pulls a letter out of one and reads it over. She does this with several more letters, folding each one carefully and returning it to its proper spot before moving on. “The people of Kirkwall love you.” Hawke doesn’t know that that’s true. The people of Kirkwall thinks she gets the job done. It isn’t the same thing. “There are marriage proposals.” She laughs softly. “Do you consider any of them?”

“Not really.” Hawke wishes she could learn to take a joke.

Bethany sets the letters down. “Do you mind if I take a look around Mother’s room?”

“Go ahead.” Hawke watches her take the stairs up. Hawke still hasn’t been able to enter the room all this time later. She’s no longer sure if she should have arranged for Bethany to visit. Too many memories and sad thoughts are surfacing. She takes a seat on the bottom step and leans into the banister, sighing softly. Is her time in Kirkwall finished? She hopes there isn’t another disaster in the works. She’s had enough to last a lifetime.

She deliberates the thoughts until a significant amount of time has passed and Bethany hasn’t returned. Hawke climbs up. The room to Leandra’s room is closed and Hawke opens it cautiously. Bethany isn’t inside. Hawke shuts the door and looks around the terrace. She wanders into her room but doesn’t find her there either. The door to the bathroom is ajar. Hawke calls out Bethany’s name before delicately pushing the door open. Bethany stands before the sink, washing her face. There is some redness in her eyes. She sniffles but wipes the water from her face as if nothing were the matter. She doesn’t look at Hawke.

Hawke rests against the doorframe. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I should have been here. I should have been here with her.”

“You weren’t. You can’t change it. I can’t, no matter how I may want to. Don’t torture yourself. It solves nothing.”

“How do you do this? How can you stand to live here?”

“I can’t, usually.” She breathes. “You know… being sad defeats the purpose of being let out of the Circle. Did you even want to leave it?” she asks quietly. Bethany ducks her head. Hawke remembers when she could read Bethany’s every movement. Now she knows nothing of her. “Sometimes I think I’ve only ever done the wrong things for you. Have I?”

Bethany shakes her head lightly. “No.” Hawke hands her a washcloth and Bethany wipes the water from her face. She bunches it in her hand and sets it down. “It isn’t up to you to save me, Marian. I’m in the Circle now. Neither one of us can change it. So let’s not torture ourselves.”

“It’s not fair using my argument against me.”

Bethany smiles wryly. “I can think of little that’s fair.”

Hawke nods grimly. “…What of the Knight-Commander? You said she knew something was wrong.” But that could mean any number of things. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?” She had thought to be careful after their last meeting but what is the point? No matter how carefully she may speak it won’t change matters between them.

“You know what’s happened,” Bethany says quietly. Hawke diverts her eyes. “What I did… what we did...” She stops. Hawke waits. “I don’t know. Maybe all of it is my fault. Meredith and you. I thought if we didn’t talk about it it might all go away. I don’t know that I want any of it to go away. I don’t know that it ever could.” Hawke takes a step to her. Bethany presses a hand to her chest to stop her from coming closer. “Meredith and I…”

“Forget her.”

“How do you suppose I would do that?” Bethany asks angrily.

“Are you afraid of her?” Hawke takes Bethany’s hand when she doesn’t answer straight away. “I bloody knew it.”

“No! I mean… She’s different. Something has changed, I swear it. I’m not…”

“Or maybe you’ve finally opened your eyes to her lunacy.” Hawke says. Bethany tries to yank her hand away but Hawke doesn’t let her. She pulls her closer. Bethany’s chest heaves. She looks around frightfully, doing everything to not look at Hawke’s face. “Do I scare you?” Bethany stares at the floor. Hawke waits with bated breath, knowing that Bethany’s next word could destroy her. Bethany shakes her head. Hawke can breathe again. “Let’s leave this place. We don’t have to stay in Kirkwall.”

“We can’t.”

“Yes, we can. I can protect you.”

“Like you protected me before?” She pulls away easily this time, slipping through Hawke’s finger like grains of sand. “This is greater than me this time, don’t you understand that? The Knight-Commander doesn’t like you, Marian. Sometimes I think she abhors you.”

“That’s no surprise.”

“I won’t risk it. I don’t want to be on the run again. It was difficult enough when nobody knew who I was. Do you think it’d ever be possible again? I’m a mage and the Champion’s sister. Meredith would hunt me down and kill me before she let me get away. She would make an example of us both. You don’t know how she is.” The angry energy that crackled around the room suddenly dissipates and Bethany is left exhausted. She rests a hand on the sink to steady herself.

“I know how she is.” Hawke says quietly. “The thought of you imprisoned for the rest of your life kills me, Bethany. I would never see you again if it meant your freedom.”

“Shows what you know.” Bethany scoffs softly. “I would take imprisonment to a lifetime without you.”  Hawke leaves the bathroom. The words make her absurdly happy; she can’t help but think she’s a monster for it. She would never allow it if she had any say in the matter. Is she to feel guilty for her thoughts as well as her actions? “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. Away from you.”

“Don’t be that way.”

“What do you want me to think? Everything you say and do is a bloody taunt. I can’t figure out if you love or hate the Knight-Commander. And what of me? You don’t make it easy to forget you.”

“Why would you ever want to forget me?”

“Are you so stupid?” she shouts. Bethany doesn’t move. Hawke lets out a breath. She rubs at her forehead. “Maybe you’re right and it’s best that you’re in the Circle. If you have Meredith’s favor she’ll protect you. She’ll care for you if you don’t do anything stupid.”

“Anything stupid?”

“Any of the things I want us to do.” She runs a hand over her face. “I’m awful.” Bethany shakes her head. She goes to her and pulls the hand from her face. She ‘shhs’ her when Hawke tries to speak. She kisses her when Hawke tries to speak again. Hawke is undone. She makes no effort to resist. Their mouths meld together ardently. Hawke finds the back of Bethany’s robe and yanks at it. They both hear fabric tearing but neither gives it any attention.

Bethany jerks the shirt away from Hawke, rips at her pants, shoves her to the bed. Her lips never leave Hawke’s for more than a moment at a time. Hawke parts their lips, kissing her slow and hard, tearing the robe away from Bethany and flinging the heavy material carelessly to the side. She can’t help a gasp when Bethany forces her to her back and begins a fiery trail of kisses along her flesh, biting and suckling at her so expertly that Hawke feels as if the crushing pleasure will swiftly end her. Is this the work of the—

Bethany finds her mouth again before Hawke can finish the thought, pulls her so their breasts are pressed together. She throws a leg over Hawke’s hip and slides in close, squeezing to her so their centers slide against each others. Hawke hisses. She’s still hissing, gasping, moaning when Bethany guides Hawke’s hand to her hip and moves against her, mirroring the touch to Hawke’s hip to brace herself and bring Hawke closer. Hawke’s heart feels as if it will explode. Euphoria races throughout her. Bethany’s fingers trail over her hair, she plants kisses along her neck and ear, nails raking along her back, teeth sinking into her shoulder to stifle her cries. Hawke is torn between telling her to not hold back and making her moan louder.

She takes Bethany’s wrists, lightly crossed and maneuvers her to her back. Bethany seizes her mouth again and Hawke uses a knee to part her thighs before positioning herself between them and joining their centers again. Bethany’s face, breathless and flushed beneath her makes her dizzy. Bethany shifts, raising herself slightly and grabbing Hawke’s hips. It isn’t long before they’ve found a rhythm, slow and torturous at first before shifting fast and rough. Hawke falls forward, hands to either side of Bethany, lips locked together in half, clumsy kisses, gasping into each other’s mouths before the climax, Bethany first, followed swiftly by Hawke, Bethany’s mouth, hands and words making it impossible to withhold any longer.

Hawke collapses breathlessly against her, eyes closed, afraid to open them, afraid this is all her imagination. Bethany’s hands wander over her, short, dull fingernails scratching lightly along her, teasing. Hawke sighs softly as Bethany presses her to the bed and kisses every bit of her, tongue dallying in all the areas that make Hawke’s body burn again, content to go into happy oblivion.

Hawke resists falling prey to her seduction and pulls her up so they lie side by side, arms circled around one another, exchanging kisses that change from shy to impassioned. They both shake. The sun is beginning to set. Hawke knows nightfall is when they will retrieve Bethany to return her to the Circle and dreads it.

“This is the only time I feel safe,” Bethany says absently as Hawke laces her body with kisses. Hawke pauses. Bethany’s words could mean anything. Does she feel safe when she does this with Meredith as well…?

“Are you afraid? What do you feel?”

Bethany closes her eyes and draws a long, steady breath.

 

 

 


End file.
